THE 

REAL THING 

JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 








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THE REAL THING 

AND THREE OTHER FARCES 



BY ./ 

JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 

ILLUSTRATED 




HARPER & BROTHERS 


PUBLISHERS 


NEW 


YORK AND 
M C M I X 


LONDON 



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HARPER & BROTHERS. PUBLISHERS, N. Y. 



Copyr 


ght, 1909, by Hakper 


& Brothers. 




^// rights reser-ved. 




Published October, 


1909. 



482L'4 



V 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Real Thing i 

The Barringtons' "At Home" • • . 33 

The Return of Christmas .... 63 

The Side-Show 95 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE REAL THING FronUspicce 

"there's MANNY A FOINE-SPOKEN 
LADY OUTSIDE THAT AIN't IN 
TH' SOCIAL RE-GISTHER" . . Facing p. l8 

"of course, grimmins. my mis- 
take" " 66 

"are you going to permit your 
children to play marbles 
with pearls?" " 82 



THE REAL THING 



THE REAL THING 



Dramatis Persons 

Michael Maginnis, proprietor of The Employers' Bureau. 
Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, a lady of meekness and spirit. 
Mrs. Delancey Pell, an em.ployer in search of a place. 
Mrs. Browning, a sufferer from domestic complications. 
Mrs. Hawkins, a discouraged seeker after help. 
Mrs. Bridget O'Hara, a culinary star, auburn-haired 

and haughty. Not French. 
Bill, a bell-hoy. 
Time. — To-day, or possibly to-morrow and the day after. 

Scene. — The office of the Maginnis Em- 
ployers* Bureau, 4g8 Fifth Avenue, 
New York city. It is a large square, 
room, barely furnished. At rear right 
and left are two whtdows, between 
which there stands a roll-top desk, with 
a swivel chair in front of it. At right 
rear entrance is a swinging glass door 
opening upon corridor, with the name 
of the agency upon it in gold letters. 



2 The Real Thing 

At left middle entrance is an ordinary 
door leading into afwther apartment. 
It is labelled ''Dressing Room.'' On 
either side of this door are rows of 
camp-stools, about twelve in number, 
all but one of which are occupied by 
fashionably dressed women, looking 
very tired, worried, indignant, or anx- 
ious. Some of them are fanning them- 
selves nervously. One is reading the 
advertising section of a newspaper. 
The curtain rising discovers this pict- 
ure and group, with Maginnis busy 
writing at the desk, his back to the 
audience. An appreciable pause fol- 
lows, at the efid of which he rises, takes 
up the manuscript he has been writing, 
scratches his chin, and scans the paper. 
Taps a bell on his desk, and walks 
slowly to front of stage. 

Maginnis. There, that ought to fetch 
'em. {Reads aloud.) Wanted, Employ- 
ers of Domestic Assistance. Only strict- 



The Real Thing 3 

ly first-class people need apply. Ref- 
erences required. The Maginnis Em- 
ployers' Agency, 498 Fifth Avenue, New- 
York. {Returns to desk and taps the 
hell again.) Where the dickens is that 
boy? {Bangs hell hard and continuous- 
ly. Finally, there heing no response, he 
goes to door opening into corridor and 
calls.) Bill! 

Bill {from without). Yep! 

Maginnis. What are you doing — 
playing craps again? 

Bill. Yep. 

Maginnis. Well, come here. I want 
you. {Returns to centre of stage.) 
They're all alike. Even the errand- 
boys aren't willing to attend to busi- 
ness. 

Enter Bill. 

Bill {airily). Wotcher want? 

Maginnis. Don't you talk to me that 
way, you little scamp! 

Bill. Aw, go on, Mister Maginnis. 
{Grins.) I don't mean nothin' by it. 



4 The Real Thing 

Maginnis. Well, don't you forget 
that I'm your boss, Bill. Just because 
your mother is a successful cook is no 
reason why you should take on high 
and mighty airs with me. See? 

Bill (grinning) . Dat's all right, Mister 
Maginnis — but I ain't just a hired man, 
neither. I'm in my business just like 
youse is in yours, an' I'll treat you 
right s'long as you treat me right. See ? 

Maginnis. You're a chip of the old 
block, Bill. I'd bounce you in a minute 
if I could do any better. But come, 
now, get your hat and take this down 
to the Herald office. 

Bill. Yep — that buildin' in front of 
the teayter? 

Maginnis. Yes. Tell them I want 
that printed in the society section next 
Sunday, where it will be read by all the 
first families, and in big type. 

Bill. Yep. You mean in where it 
says Mrs. Bolivar Jones is visitin' Mrs. 
Willie K. Moneypacker at Nooport? 



The Real Thing 5 

Maginnis. That's it, Bill. Tell 'em 
to give it a good position there and to 
make out a bill for it, and you pay it 
with this. 

[Hands Bill a twenty-dollar note. 
Bill. Do I keep the change? 

[Grins. 

Maginnis. Yes — keep it until you get 

back here, and then I'll take charge of 

it. Now get along, and don't let any 

grass grow under your feet. 

[Bill walks to the corner of the room 
attd picks a liat up from the floor 
and walks out, whistling as he 
goes. 
Maginnis {turning to ladies). Good- 
morning, ladies. 

Ladies. Good-morning, Mr. Maginnis. 
Maginnis. Sorry to keep you waiting, 
but servants nowadays aren't either 
frequent or early risers. We are ex- 
pecting a half-dozen in this morning, 
however, and I trust you will be able to 
— er — arrange with them satisfactorily. 



6 The Real Thing 

First Lady. I don't mind waiting, Mr. 
Maginnis. {Laughs.) I am getting quite 
used to it. 

Seco}id Lady. I've been waiting three 
months for a cook, but it has been real 
restful; though I will say I'd like to 
know what has become of the children 
all this while. 
^f<7^ [A knock on the corridor door is heard. 

Maginnis. Come in. 
Enter Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, timidly. 
She approaches Maginnis. 

Mrs. Perkins. Is this — Mr. Maginnis ? 

Maginnis. Yes, madam. 

Mrs. Perkins. I understand you have 
an employment bureau here, and I have 
come — 

Maginms. Not an employw^w^ bureau 
madam. An employ^?'^' bureau. There 
is a difference. We don't provide em- 
ployment for servants, but employers 
of domestic service for those who are 
willing to accept household positions. 

Mrs. Perkins. I don't quite understand. 



The Real Thing 7 

Maginnis. I will gladly explain. Now- 
adays things are not as they used to be. 
Formerly employers went to intelligence- 
offices to procure cooks and waitresses 
and maids from a long line of persons 
seeking employment. 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes — I know. I have 
visited — oh, quite a few. 

Maginnis. Well, our establishment, 
owing to certain social changes of late 
years, has adopted a different method 
— my own invention, I am proud to say. 
Here we keep not servants for employers 
to choose, but employers for domestic 
artists to choose. There aren't any 
servants any more. I hope you see the 
point of difference. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh yes, indeed! It is 
not too subtle for my eye. Indeed, I 
have seen it coming for some time. But 
how do you manage ? Suppose I needed 
a cook — which I assure you I do — what 
must I do to get one here ? 

Maginnis. First you enter your name 



8 The Real Thing 

on our books, for which we charge a min- 
imum fee of $25. Then you hand us your 
references from servants previously in 
your employ, with a statement of your 
standing in the financial and social 
world, verified by a notary's certificate, 
and a note from the cashier of your bank 
saying that your account is good — 

Mrs. Perkins. Dear me! Isn't that 
going a trifle far? 

Maginnis. Maids demand it these 
times, madam, and we must make the 
best of it. It is a condition, not a 
theory, that confronts us. 

Mrs. Perkins. I see. And then what ? 

Maginnis. If, upon the whole, your 
references are satisfactory, we assign 
one of these camp-stools to your use 
for a period of two weeks, and let you 
occupy it until you have successfully 
accomplished what you wish. 

Mrs. Perkins {eagerly). You guaran- 
tee me a cook? 

Maginnis. We guarantee nothing save 



The Real Thing 9 

your undisputed use of the camp-stool 
for the period of your subscription — 
$25 for two weeks, $50 a month. 

Mrs. Perkins. But — Mr. Maginnis — 
where does the cook come in? That's 
what I — 

Maginnis. Right through that door, 
madam. [Pointing to glass door. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, I don't mean that. 
I mean about when may I expect to see 
a cook ? 

Maginnis. That I cannot say. All I 
can say is that the most aristocratic 
domestic servants in the city come here 
looking for employers. One, two, five, 
seven, twenty-seven, may be in at any 
moment, and then again there may not 
be any in for several days. We have 
no control over their movements. 

Mrs. Perkins. Still, if I subscribe, the 
chances are that I shall get what I want ? 

Maginnis. That will all depend on 
yourself, madam. The best we can do 
is to afford you an opportunity. 



lo The Real Thing 

Mrs. Perkins. Well — I don't know. I 
— I don't know what else to do. We're 
taking all our meals at a hotel now, and 
it is not only awkward but expensive. 
The children have such large appetites, 
and are never satisfied with less than 
three desserts. 

Maginnis. I shall be very glad to 
have your name on my list, and I will 
do all I can to get you a position. 

Mrs. Perkins. A position .? 

Maginnis. I speak the language of 
the condition, madam. Yes — a posi- 
tion, as mistress to a cook. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh yes — I'd forgotten. 
Well {opening her purse) , here is twenty- 
five dollars. My name is Mrs. Perkins — 
Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of Montclair — 

Maginnis. Hm! Country? 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes; you — you won't 
keep me out on that account, I hope. 
We're quite as much human beings as 
city people, you know. 

Maginnis. No, madam. Of course 



The Real Thing 1 1 

not — but our subscription for country 
people — commuters, we call them 
(laughs pleasantly) — is ten dollars extra. 
You see, the service rendered is so much 
greater. You perhaps don't realize how 
hard it is to get girls who are willing to 
go out of the city. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh yes, I do. I've kept 
house for a number of years, Mr. Magin- 
nis. There is the extra ten. {Hands 
Maginnis a ten-dollar bill.) My bank is 
the Wheat Exchange, and fortunately 
I have my book, just written up. 
{Produces it.) See ? It shows a balance 
yesterday of $1146.38 — though how 
they make it out I must say I don't 
know. I was sure I had $1238.42. 

Maginnis {taking the hook). I will send 
to the bank and have it verified. Now 
as to your social position, Mrs. Perkins, 
I happen to know about that. My 
cousin used to be your husband's father's 
coachman. But references from your 
previous servants — have you any? 



12 The Real Thing 

Mrs. Perkins. Why, no — I never 
heard of such a thing. 

Maginnis. I suppose you don't know 
where your last cook is this morning, so 
that I might reach her on the 'phone ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes — she's at the New 
York Inebriate Asylum — 

Maginnis. Thank you. I'll communi- 
cate with her. Her name was ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Flaherty — Nora Fla- 
herty. 

Maginnis (jotting down name and ad- 
dress). Thank you. And you parted 
on good terms? 

Mrs. Perkins. Well — you might say 
so. She wept on my shoulder and told 
me she'd always regard me as a mother, 
but at the time she was very — 

Maginnis. I understand. 

Mrs. Perkins. It required four police- 
men to get her to leave. {Laughs.) Per- 
haps that's a sign that she was attached 
to the place. 

Maginnis. It may be so. Anyhow, it 



The Real Thing 13 

will be all right, Mrs. Perkins. If I can 
get a good word from her for you, it will 
of course be of great assistance in getting 
you your place. And if I can't {looks 
about mysteriously), well, there are other 
ways of fixing it. {Confidentially.) We 
have blank references always ready for 
those that are otherwise unprovided. 

Mrs. Perkins. But — Mr. Maginnis — 
that isn't quite honest, is it? Forged 
references ? 

Maginnis. Compared with the gen- 
eral run of references, madam, which 
ladies used to give departing servants, I 
think it is. Moreover, our blank ref- 
erences are not forged. They are all 
signed by cooks in good standing, and 
have been purchased by us for use in 
this particular business. We leave only 
the date line and the employer's name 
blank, to be filled in later. 

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, well, I suppose all's 
fair in love and domestic service — and 
I simply must have a cook! 



14 The Real Thing 

Maginnis {walking to empty camp- 
stool). This is your place, Mrs. Perkins. 

Mrs. Perkins {sitting). Thank you. 

Maginnis {looking down the line). 
Excuse me, Mrs. Pell, but you look a 
trifle dowdy this morning. I'd prink 
up a bit if I were you. These girls are 
very particular. 

Mrs. Pell. Very well, Mr. Maginnis. 
I had to hurry so to get here in time. 

[Exit into outer chamber. 

Maginnis. And you, Mrs. Browming 
— don't you think it would improve 
your chances if your gloves weren't out 
at the finger-tips? I would suggest a 
new pair. 

Mrs. Browning. I can't afford a new 
pair. 

Maginnis. And do you expect to get 
a thirty-dollar housemaid when your 
personal appearance suggests that you 
haven't got thirty cents? 

Mrs. Browning {bursting into tears)- 
It's because I have to pay thirty dollars 



The Real Thing i$ 

for a housemaid that I can't afford new 
gloves. 

Maginnis (kindly). Well, you should 
have spoken to me about it. How was 
I to know? What is your size? 

Mrs. Browning (wiping her eyes). 
Fours. 

Maginnis. I will lend you a pair. 
Mrs. Browning (confidentially). Better 
make them sixes, Mr. Maginnis. 

[Maginnis goes to desk, opens drawer, 
a^id takes out a large box of 
women's gloves. Selects a pair 
and hands them to Mrs. Browning. 
They are flaming red. 
Mrs. Browning. Mercy! Why, Mr. 
Maginnis — what an awful, awful color! 
Maginnis (laughing). Take my ad- 
vice and wear them, Mrs. Browning. I 
have sat in this game for fifteen years 
and I know the taste of our patrons. 
Those gloves will help you — you see if 
they don't. I'd take that frown off my 
face if I were you, Mrs. Hawkins. 



i6 The Real Thing 

Mrs. Hawkins. Well, I just simply 
can't. I haven't had my breakfast, 
and my head aches, and the baby's got 
the measles — 

[The other ladies draw away in con- 
sternation. 
Maginnis. Then you'd better go home. 
I'll give you an extra day at the end of 
your subscription, but I tell you right 
now that you won't get a waitress in this 
place while you look so like a meat-axe. 
Better go home and rest up and come 
back to-morrow. 

Mrs. Hawkins. It's very kind of 
you, Mr. Maginnis. (Rises and walks to 
door. As she reaches it she turns and calls 
back.) If anybody should come that 
you think — 

[Bumps backward into Bridget 
O'Hara, who enters haughtily 
arid dressed to the nines. 
Mrs. Hawkins. Oh, I beg your par- 
don. 

Bridget (indignantly). G'wanwidyez! 



The Real Thing 17 

Phwoy don't yez look where yez is 
goin' ? 'Tis a pretty kittle o' fish whin 
a la-ady can't enter a glash dure widout 
havin' hersilf shtove in before boy wim- 
men walkin' out behoind. 

[Mrs. Hawkins retires in confusion. 
Maginnis grins and walks ob- 
sequiously forward and bows to 
Bridget. 

Bridget. Good-marnin' to ye, Magin- 
nis. Have yez anny impl'yers fer me to 
luk over this marnin' 1 

Maginnis. Yes, Mrs. O'Hara. I have 
several. 

Bridget {glancing at the row of nervous 
women). Sure is thim they? 

Maginnis. Yes, Mrs. O'Hara. Three 
of them are anxious to be employed by 
a culinary artist — 

Bridget. Anxious is ut ? Sure they do 
well to be anxious. Do yez know 'em ? 

Maginnis. They are all of irreproach- 
able social standing. 

Bridget. Ye're sure about that, ar-rre 



i8 The Real Thing 

ye ? There's manny a foine-spoken lady 
outside that ain't in th' social re-gisther. 

Maginnis. I have looked them all up, 
Mrs. O'Hara, and I know they're all 
right. Would you like to speak to one 
of them ? 

Bridget. Sure. Oi t'ink oi'll hov a 
worrud wid the wan wid the pink mitts. 
She's a good-looker. 

Maginnis. Mrs. Browning. 

Mrs. Browning (rising). Yes, sir. 
[Bridget sits and gazes critically at 
Mrs. Browning, who stands, more 
or less timidly, before her. 

Bridget. Are yez an impl'yer? 

Mrs. Browning. Y-yes. 

Bridget. How many years ? 

Mrs. Browning. Seventeen. 

Bridget. How many culinary la-adies 
hov yez had in the lasht foive? 

Mrs. Browning. Why — let me see. 
{Counting on her fingers.) There was 
Jane, and Mary, and Clementine, and 
Emma, and Katie, and Mary — 




.\iA.\:,v A 1 i»i.\j-, .sroj-^ivX i.AUV (KISiuk riiAT 
ain't in tii' social uk-gisther" 



The Real Thing 19 

Bridget. Ycz said that wance be- 
fur(^ 

Mrs. Browning. Well, there have boon 
four Marys altojj^ethcT -Mary I)unni.ii[an, 
Mary I^^innc^^'an, Mary Flanigan, and 
Mary Ma(h<^'an. 

Bridf^c't. Niv(!r inoind their names. 
Ginrally, how many? 

Mrs. Broivning. About tliirty-nine. 

Bridget (saraislic). Ye'vc had a larrge 
experience. Oi don't t'ink yc'll do. 
Mr. Maginnis, give me somebody that 
a la-ady can live wid. 

Mrs. Browning. If you'll only come 
and give me a trial — 

Bridget. That '11 do fur you. Oi ain't 
lookin' f'r a [)laace to shto[) overniglit. 
Oi want a risidencc that's handy, wid a 
chance f'r a long lease. 

[Mrs. Browning retires crestfallen 
and sits down. 

Bridget. M(; toime's limited, Maglnnis. 
Sure an' oi hov a bridge-i)arty for tli' 
afthernoon. Maloiie doied yistcrday, 



20 The Real Thing 

an' we're goin' to bridge him over instid 
of a wake. Have yez nothin' else ? 

Maginnis. I think I have. {Goes to 
door and calls.) Mrs. Pell, step this 
way, please. 

[Minces toward centre. 

Bridget {laughing). Sure she'd have 
a harrd toime steppin' thot way, Ma- 
ginnis. 

Mrs. Pell {at doonvay). Me.? 

[At nod from Maginnis she walks 
forward. 

Bridget. Oi loikes yer looks. What's 
yer name? 

Mrs. Pell. Mrs. Delancey Pell. 

Bridget. Pill is ut? 

Mrs. Pell {bravely). No — Pell — not 
pill. 

Briiiget Sure oi know — oi know. Oi 
said Pill, not pill. Pay, ay, douhble ill 
— Pill. Where do yez live.? 

Mrs. Pell. Morristown, New Jersey. 

Bridget. Maginnis — take her away. 
D'yez t'ink oi'm old Napoleon Boney- 



The Real Thin<r 21 



J-) 



party that oi'd want to spind me de- 
cloinin' years in the soobubs ? It's New- 
York or nothin' — d'ye undherstand ? 

Maginnis. I — I beg your pardon, Mrs. 
O'Hara. I understood Mrs. Pell to say 
she lived in town in winter — 

Mrs. Pell I do, Mr. Maginnis. I 
want a co — culinary artist for my town 
house. 

Bridget. Aha! Thot's different. Anny 
children ? 

Mrs, Pell. Three boys. 

Bridget. That's a larrge family — if yer 
husband's around much. 

Mrs. Pell. The boys go to boarding- 
school, Mrs. O'Hara, and my liusband 
and I spend January and February at 
Palm Beach. 

Bridget. How about October, and 
Novimber, and Decimber? 

Mrs. Pell. We usually remam at 
Morristown until Thanksgiving. 

Bridget. Oi see — so that ye'd raly 
only need me active assistance as th' 



22 The Real Thing 

gincral director of your kitchen through 
Decimber ? 

Mrs. Pell Yes, Mrs. O'Hara. The 
other eleven months of the year you 
would be comparatively free. 

Bridget. Oi see. Do oi hov anny 
toimc off in Decimber? 

Mrs. Pell. I think we could arrange 
it if you should decide to come. 

Hr'uigci. Who does the cookin' fer the 
rist of the ladies and gintlemen that 
look afther your house ? 

Mrs. Pell. Well— I— I hadn't thought 
of that. I have always supposed that 
our cook — that is, our general kitchen 
director — would — 

Bridget. Ye haven't been housckecpin' 
long, that's plain. Ye don't suppose 
that oi would cook me own meals, for 
instance, do yez ? 

Mrs. Pell. I really don't see why not. 

Bridget. Do yez cook yer own? 

Mrs. Pell. Of course not. 

Bridget (coldly). Thin why should oi? 



The Real Thing 25 

Mrs. Pell (decisively). Because you're 
a cook. That's why. 

Bridget (sharply). Maginnis, take her 
away. Oi tould you oi wanted a civil 
impl'ycr. Mrs. Dildancy Pill has atim- 
per an' a sassy tongue. Show me 
that little blond lady on the ind seat. 
Oi t'ink oi'll try .1 greenhorn, an' teach 
her me ways. 

Maginnis. Mrs. Perkins, please come 
this way. 

[Mrs. Perkins steps forward hris/dy. 
She has been watching ivhat has 
gone before, first with apprehensive 
eyes, then with astonishment, and 
finally with wrath. 
Bridget. Phwat's yv.v na — 
Mrs. Perkins (suddenly). Stand up 
when you speak to me. 

Bridget (with a nervous jump). Phwat's 
that ? 

Mrs. Perkins. Stand uj). I am not 
used to having servants sit while I am 
talking to them. [Bridget slowly rises. 



24 The Real Thing 

Bridget. Sure, young lady, but yez 
have nerve — 

Mrs. Perkins. Never mind what I 
have. I am here to find out what you 
have to offer. Do you want a place, 
or don't you? 

[Takes chair Bridget has vacated. 
The other ladies draw hack in 
amazement and some consterna- 
tion. 

Bridget. Sure oi do. {Meekly at first, 
then, her courage returning.) Oi'll have 
to shpeak about rifirences. Hov yez — 

Mrs. Perkins. You certainly will if 
you expect to get a place in my house. 
(Sharply.) Why did you leave your 
last place? 

Bridget (subsiding). Oi hoven't lift ut, 
ma'am. Oi'm just lookin' around. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well — I need a cook 
and if you can cook and will cook and 
your references are satisfactory, I may 
take you. I have eight children, and 
keep only two other girls. We entertain 



The Real Thing 25 

a great many people, and my husband 
is generally home for three meals a 
day. 

Bridget (sympathetically). Out of a 
job, ma'am? 

Mrs. Perkins (ignoring the question). 
We breakfast at seven, and when we 
don't have hot biscuits we have rice or 
buckwheat cakes; we live six miles from 
a railway station ; and all the washing is 
done in the house — one-third by the 
cook, one-third by the waitress, and one- 
third by the up-stairs girl. The work 
is divided. 

Bridget (shrinking). 'Tis rather hard, 
ma'am. 

Mrs. Perkins. It's very hard, but the 
work has got to be done. I insist upon 
the kitchen being thoroughly scrubbed 
three times a week — 

Bridget. Would oi have to look after 
the furnace, ma'am ? 

Mrs. Perkins. No — we have a man 
from outside to do that. 



36 « The Real Thing 

Bridget {simpering). So oi could count 
some on gintlemin's company — 

Mrs. Perkins. Yes. Rastus is a gen- 
tleman, if his skin is black. 

Bridget. Saints preserve us! a na — 

Mrs. Perkins. Exactly. What wages 
have you been getting? 

Bridget. Fifty dollars. 

Mrs. Perkins. That's preposterous. 
I'm sure you're not worth it. No cook 
is. I shall not pay more than twenty. 

Bridget. Well, thot's good — if ut's 
paid. Oi — oi don't get me fifty, ma'am, 
— oi'm only promised ut. Twinty in 
hand is worth a thousand that ye'll 
niver get. That's why oi'm lookin' 
fer a change. 

Mrs. Perkins. I see. 

Bridget. The boss spinds so much on 
his artymechoo-choo oi t'ink he's busted. 

Mrs. Perkins. It often happens. Now 
as to days out — you can have every 
third Thursday from breakfast on, only 
you must clean up your kitchen before 



The Real Thing 27 

you go. There will be no Sundays off at 
all — only Sunday afternoons. We have 
midday dinner on Sunday, but a cold 
supper, which the waitress can handle 
alone. This will give you every other 
Sunday afternoon and evening from 
four o'clock on. On the other Sundays 
you will have to wait at supper. Have 
you any references? 

Bridget. Yis, ma'am. 

Mrs. Perkins. Let me see them. 
[Bridget fumbles about in her dress 
and produces a bundle of letters. 

Mrs. Perkins. Mr. Maginnis, have 
these been looked up ? 

Maginnis. Y-yes, ma'am. I — I look- 
ed them up under the old system. 
They're all right. 

Mrs. Perkins. Well, then {to Bridget) 
— er — what is your name? 

Bridget. Mrs. O'Hara, ma'am. 

Mrs. Perkins. I mean your first name 

Bridget, Bridget. 

Mrs. Perkins. Very well then, Bridget, 



28 The Real Thing 

you may come to me this afternoon if 
you wish — twenty dollars, cooking, wash- 
ing, and everything else as I have told 
you. What is it to be — yes or no ? 

Bridget {hesitating between pride and 
humility). Sure an' oi — Begorry, oi'll 
take the job, for oi like yez. (With 
enthusiasm.) Misther Maginnis, ye've 
kept your word. YeVe found the rale 
t'ing that oi've bin lookin' for. 

Maginnis. I'm glad, Mrs. O'Hara, if 
my effort — 

Bridget. Ah, shtop ut, Mike. Call me 
Bridget. That's (nodding toward Mrs. 
Perkins) a la-ady, but th' rest of 'em 
(with scornful glances at line on camp- 
stools), they's amachoors. 

Mrs. Perkins' (looking at watch) . You'd 
better hurry, Bridget. Our train leaves 
at two -thirty, and it's twelve now. 
Foot of Twenty-third Street and North 
River. Be prompt, for I sha'n't wait 
for you. 

Bridget. Yis, ma'am. Oi'll be there. 



The Real Thing 29 

(Walks to the door. As she gets there she 
turns and looks again at Mrs. Perkins.) 
If there was more loike her, there'd be 
no domistic problem. It's thim imita- 
tion impl'yers that's roonin' the busi- 
ness. [Exit. 
[Mrs. Perkins drops in a chair, 
fainting. The others spring to her 
assistance. Maginnis gives her a 
glass of water and she revives. 
Mrs. Pell. It was wonderful, mad- 
am. 

Mrs. Perkins {faintly). But — I — I'm 
not a bit like that, you know. 

Maginnis. Well, Mrs. Perkins, it was 
a magnificent bluff. Keep it up and 
you'll never have any more trouble in 
getting and keeping a cook. 

[Mrs. Perkins smiles, rises, and 

walks to the door. Maginnis gazes 

after her admiringly. 

Mrs. Perkins. Good-morning. 

Maginnis. Good - morning, madam. 

(Bows. Mrs. Perkins exits.) Ladies, 



30 The Real Thing 

Bridget was right. You'd better make 
a note of it. That's the real thing. 

[Turns and goes to desk. Sits. The 
remaining ladies stiffen up, sum- 
mon up their nerves. One of 
them laughingly tries her muscle. 
They all sit and gaze intently at 
the glass door like tigresses waiting 
to pounce upon their prey. 



Curtain 



THE BARRINGTONS 
"AT HOME" 



THE HARRINGTONS' 
"AT HOME" 



Dramatis Person>e 

The Reverend Edward Barrington, the new minister. 

Mrs. Edward Barrington, his wife. 

Mrs. Richard Dowling, a masterful member of the 

congregation. 
James, the letter's hired man. 
Jane, the Harringtons' maid. 

Scene. — The drawing-room of the parson- 
age at Wykeham-on-Hudson. It is three 
o'clock of a pleasant May afternoon. 
The curtain rising discloses the drawing- 
room daintily arranged for the minister's 
reception. At rear centre is a double 
door hung with portieres. At left is a 
window, before which stands a piano. 
At right is a door leading into another 



34 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

rooin. A Shakespeare table with a 
lamp upon it stands in the corner 
alongside of the door. At right down- 
stage is a fireplace and chimney-breast, 
with mantel- piece, on which stand several 
vases filled ivith sweet peas and some 
spring flowers. Over the mantel hangs 
a large engraving of " Washington 
Crossing the Delaware.'' On the op- 
posite side of th: oom is a table with 
a white cloth, and tea things upon it. 
There are several chairs arranged about 
room. Mrs. Harrington is seen bus- 
tling about attended by Jane and ar- 
ranging bunches of flowers in various 
vases. 

Mrs. Harrington (as she puts the 
finishing touches to a vase on the mantel- 
piece). There, Jane, I think we have 
at last succeeded in bringing order out 
of chaos. 

fane. It certainly does look very nice, 
mim. More like home than it was, mim. 



The Barringtons' *'At Home" 35 

Mrs. Barrington. Much more, Jane. I 
thought we'd never do it. It was so cold 
and formal when we moved in last 
Wednesday it didn't look to me as if we 
could ever make a home of it. If you 
ever want to settle permanently any- 
where, Jane, don't marry a minis- 
ter. 

Jane. I never will, mim. 

Mrs. Barrington. It was worth while 
moving the piano. Did you pay the 
men? 

Jane. Yes, mim. They charged fifty 
cents apiece just for shovin' it across the 
floor — the cheek of 'em! 

Mrs. Barrington. It was worth it, 
Jane. It looked like a house standing 
in that other corner. I couldn't abide 
it! 

Jane. Yes — and these pictures on the 
wall is much nicer than the ones they 
had. They ain't so solemnlike. 

Mrs. Barrington. I think so. They are 
much daintier, anyhow. 



^6 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

[Enter The Reverend Edward Bar- 
rington from side door. 

Barr'nigtoii {looking about the room 
with a smile of pleasure). What a trans- 
formation! I'd hardly know it for the 
same room. 

Airs. Barringtou. I am glad you are 
pleased, Edward, dear. 

Barr'uigton. Pleased is hardly the 
word. I'm ecstatically delighted. I 
didn't think it could ever be done. What 
a clever little woman you are! {Kisses 
her.) After all, it's the woman's touch 
that makes the home. When I think 
of what this parlor was and what it has 
become I am forced to admit that you 
are a genius. 

Mrs. Barringtou {sunH\ving Iter ivork 
with satisjactio)!). You're a dear, good 
boy, Edward, but don't praise me too 
highly. It wasn't hard to improve the 
room, and I couldn't have made it any 
worse than it was. 

Barrifigton. I agree with the latter 



The Barringtons' ''At Home" 17 

half of the proposition, my dear. 1 sec 
you've moved the piano. 

Mrs. Barriugton. I hired two men to 
do it — it eost a dollar, but — 

Barri>ti^li'>n. It would have been eheap 
at two dollars. 1 nearly broke my neek 
over it as I eame in through that door in 
the dark last night. What pretty flowers! 

Mrs. f^arri}ii^to}i. Aren't they? So 
fresh and delieate. 

Barrington. So much better than those 
garish red and blue things you see so 
often. {Looking aroiuui agnin.) It's 
all as sweet and dainty as can be. That 
is — (catching sigJit of the " Washington 
Crossing the Delaware'^ picture) — all ex- 
cept — may I criticise just a little? 

Mrs. Barringto)!. Certainly, Edward. 

Barrington. Well, that picture. Poor 
old Washington crossing the Delaware 
gives me a nervous chill every time I 
look at him. I'm always afraid some 
Britisher will hit him in the eye with a 
snowball. 



^8 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

Mrs. Barrington (laughing). I feel the 
same way, Edward, but Jane and I 
couldn't very well get it down. It is 
too heavy. 

Barrington (taking off his coat). Why, 
of course it is. That's a man's job. 
Jane, get me the step-ladder and I'll 
fix it. 

Jane. Yes, Mr. Barrington. 

[Exit at door R. 
Barrington. What shall we put in its 
place, Edna? How about the Countess 
Potocka ? 

Mrs. Barrington. The very thing. I'll 
get it. 

[Exit and returns in a moment with 
the portrait. 
Barrington. Splendid. I'll have it up 
in a second. Always a favorite of mine. 
[Jane returns with step-ladder. Bar- 
rington places it in front of mantel 
and climbs up. 
Barrington (leaning forward and grasp- 
ing the Washington picture at both ends). 



The Barringtons' **At Home" 39 

Now, Mr. Washington, we'll have you 
down in a jiffy, and, mind you, your 
Excellency, there's no disrespect to you 
in this. (Lifts picture.) We — simply — 
don't like to — see you out — in — the — 
cold. That's all. {All this while removing 
wire from hook.) There. {Hands picture 
down to Jane.) Jane, put the General 
in a nice warm spot in the attic — next 
the chimney-flues. {Exit Jane carrying 
picture.) Where's the Potocka? 

Mrs. Barrington. Here it is. {Hands 
Potocka portrait to Barrington.) 

Barrington {hanging it). There, Coun- 
tess. May your life here be happier 
than the one you led at home — poor 
child! How's that, Edna? All right? 

Mrs. Barrington. Much better. It 
should be a little higher on the left — 

Barrington {turning it). How's that? 

Mrs. Barrington. That's right. You 
have a wonderfully accurate eye, Ed- 
ward. 

Barrington. Well, a clergyman after 



40 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

many years of sobriety ought to be able 
to see straight. {Comes down from 
ladder and looks at his hands. They are 
black with dust.) Poor Washington — he 
hasn't even been dusted for years and 
years. What's become of those Rogers 
groups that used to seesaw on this 
mantel-piece ? 

Mrs. Barringion {with a shudder). 
I've hidden them away — in the linen- 
closet. 

Barrington. Good! Here's hoping 
they may enjoy a long and uninterrupt- 
ed rest. And how about the supper, 
dear? Did you order the caf^ frapp^ 
from Tomlini? 

Mrs. Barrington. Yes — and Jane and 
I have made a lot of lettuce sandwiches, 
and there are salted almonds, and in- 
stead of lemonade we're going to have 
some iced tea. Don't you think that's 
better ? 

Barrington. It's a positive relief, my 
dear. A positive relief. I am so tired 



The Barringtons' **At Home" 41 

of lemonade, and sandwiches made of 
potted things, and all the outrageous 
combinations that make a church tea a 
sure forerunner of dyspepsia. 

Mrs. Barrington. At any rate, ours 
will be different, and that's something. 

Barrington. It will, and I fancy these 
dear, good people we have just come to 
serve will realize it in a moment. How 
can they help it ? If it were not for my 
position I'd wager the changes you've 
made in this old mausoleum of a manse, 
changing it into a real homelike home, 
will open their eyes a bit. 

[Sits down and rubs his hands with 
satisfaction. Door-bell rings. Exit 
Jane to answer it. 

Mrs. Barrington. Dear me ! I wonder 
who that can be! Certainly no callers. 

Barrington. Our cards read that the 
reception would be at five, didn't they ? 

Mrs. Barrington. Yes; and it's only 
three now. 

[Enter Jane, followed by Mrs. Dow- 



42 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

ling. The latter is short, slightly 
stout, and very self-confident . 

Jane. Mrs. Dowling, mim. 

Mrs. Dowling {effusively). My dear 
Mrs. Barrington — I simply could not 
wait a moment longer. (Kisses her.) 
It is so awfully hard to get settled in a 
new house, particularly if it's an old one. 
How do you do, Mr. Barrington ? Poor 
man! I suppose it's almost impossible 
for you to get to work on any new 
sermons until you get used to your new 
surroundings ? 

Barrington {smiling). I — I haven't 
tried yet, Mrs. Dowling. You know I 
have quite a number of old sermons on 
hand. 

Mrs. Barrington {protestingly) . He 
never writes one of them, Mrs. Dowling. 

Mrs. Dowling {laughing). Oh, of 
course, I know all that talk about 
ministers' barrels of sermons is just a 
joke. Still, you will feel strange here 
for a little while. That's only natural. 



The Barringtons' "At Home" 43 

And what do you suppose I've come 
for? 

Barrington. You certainly don't need 
to explain that, Mrs. Dowling. Some er- 
rand of mercy, no doubt. 

Mrs. Dowling (removing her wrap). 
I came because I felt sure you'd need 
somebody to help you fix up your draw- 
ing-room for this afternoon's reception; 
so I just ran in to see if I couldn't be 
of some assistance. 

Mrs. Barrington. It is very good of 
you — 

Barrington. Most kind of you, I'm 
sure. 

Mrs. Dowling (espying the piano). 
Why— who put that piano there? It 
has always stood, in the other corner. 

Mrs. Barrington. So I believe, but I — 

Mrs. Dowling. I suppose when Mr. 
Harkaway moved out some of those 
careless van men rolled it over there. 

Mrs. Barrington. Why, no — I — 

Mrs. Dowling. Fortunately my man 



44 The Barringtons' ' At Home " 

James came with me to carry a couple of 
— well, little surprises I have for you, 
dear (to Mrs. Barrington). I fancy 
James and Mr. Barrington are big and 
strong enough to restore it to where it 
belongs. (Turning to door.) James! 

J antes (appearing at doorway). Yis, 
mum. 

Mrs. Dowling. James, just remove 
that table and lamp from the corner 
and help Mr. Barrington push the 
piano back to where it belongs — over 
here. 

James. Yis, mum. (Begins to remove 
objects from small table.) 

Barrington. Oh no, Mrs. Dowling; I 
don't think — 

Mrs. Dowling. It's no trouble at all, 
Mr. Barrington. James is used to it. 
Hurry, James — we haven't much time. 

James. Yis, mum. (He finishes table 
and sets it to one side.) I guess I can 
push ut widout Mr. Barrington's help. 
(Pushes y but mtavailingly.) 



The Barringtons' "At Home" 45 

Barrington. The fact is, Mrs. Dowling, 
we — 

Mrs. Dowling. I guess you'll have to 
help him, Mr. Barrington. 

Barrington. But you see, Mrs. Dow- 
ling, Mrs. Barrington and I — 

James (as the piano begins to move). 
Ah! There she goes. {Rolls it across 
to the other corner, and stands awaiting 
further orders. Barrington looks help- 
lessly at his wife.) 

Mrs. Dowling. Good — that looks much 
more natural. 

Mrs. Barrington. Don't you think it 
is rather in the way there, Mrs. Dow- 
ling? 

Mrs. Dowling. Possibly, but then it is 
farther from the window, Mrs. Barring- 
ton, and damp weather does so interfere 
with the tone of an instrument. Now, 
let me see — {gazes about until her eye 
rests on the Potocka portrait) — why, what 
has become of that picture of "Wash- 
ington Crossing the Delaware" that used 



46 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

to hang over the mantel-piece? Mrs. 
Harkaway didn't take that, did she? 

Mrs. Barrington. No, Mrs. Dowling. 
It is up in the attic. When Mr. Har- 
rington and I — 

Mrs. Dowling. James — er^run up 
into the attic and get the picture of 
"Washington Crossing the Delaware" 
— a man in a boat surrounded by ice- 
cakes, James. 

James {shaking his head knowingly). 
Oi know ut well, mum. [Exit. 

Barrington. We don't like to bother 
James, Mrs. Dowling — er — er — 

Mrs. Dowling. It isn't the slightest 
bother, Mr. Barrington — 

Mrs. Barrington. But I don't really 
care for the picture, Mrs. Dowling. 

Mrs. Dowling {laughing merrily). 
Neither do I, my dear — can't abide it — 
but you know it was the gift to the 
parsonage of Mrs. Bunce, years ago, 
and it has always hung there, and Mrs. 
Bunce is a very peculiar woman. Highly 



The Harringtons' **At Home" 47 

sensitive and likely to feel herself 
slighted on the least pretext. She'd 
miss it, and you could hardly explain 
that you didn't like it, you know. 

Barrington (gloomily) . Not very well — 
[James returns with " Washington 
Crossing the Delaware." 

Mrs. Dowling. Thank you, James — 
now get a step-ladder and remove that 
other picture and put this one up in its 
place. {Exit James ajter leaning Wash- 
ington against the wall.) I'm sure I 
don't know where that picture came 
from. {Indicating the Potocka.) 

Mrs. Barrington. It belonged to — 

Mrs. Dowling. It's hardly appropri- 
ate for a parsonage — pretty and decora- 
tive, but — er — a trifle flippant. 

Barrington. I've rather liked that pict- 
ure. 

Mrs. Dowling. Oh, you good-natured 
ministers! Ha! ha! Just because you 
find a thing in a house, rather than 
hurt anybody's feelings you pretend to 



48 The Barringtons' **At Home" 

like things you really hate. Diplo- 
macy, eh ? 

Barrington. Not at all, Mrs. Dowling, 
I— 

Mrs. Dowling. Perhaps you're afraid 
I gave that to the manse and — 

Barrington. No, indeed. 1 never even 
dreamed of such a thing, because — 

Mrs. Dowling. Because you know my 
taste? Thank you very much for a 
very pretty compliment. {Enter James 
with step-ladder.) Over here, James. 
(James erects ladder in front of mantel- 
piece and mounts it.) Steady now, 
James. (James gets Potocka picture 
down.) Mr. Barrington, will you take 
it and hand James the Washington? 
(Barrington does so with a sigh of resigna- 
tion. James proceeds to hang the Wash- 
ington.) Thanks. There — a little far- 
ther to the left, James — there — no — 
that's too much — down at this corner. 
There! That will do. 

Mrs. Barrington. I'm glad you told 



The Barringtons' "At Home" 49 

me about Mrs. Bunce. Did she give 
anything else, Mrs. DowHng? 

Mrs. Dowling. No. That was all — 

Barrington. I wonder who gave those 
Rogers groups — 

Mrs. Dowling. Oh, yes, where are 
they? It would never do not to have 
them on the mantel-piece. I wonder 
where Mrs. Harkaway — 

Mrs. Barrington {ruefully). Oh, 
they're not lost, Mrs. Dowling. They're 
up-stairs in the linen-closet. 

Mrs. Dowling. James — ^run up to the 
linen-closet — 

Barrington. I'll get them. (Aside.) 
And on my way down I'll fall and break 
them. 

Mrs. Dowling. No, indeed. James is 
perfectly familiar with the house — 

James (with a grin). I know it loike 
a buk! Oi've bin troo dhis before, sorr, 
manny's the toime. 

Mrs. Dowling. James has settled at 
least five of our ministers here. 



50 The Barringtons' ''At Home" 

James. Lasht toime thim Rogers 
brothers was down in th* cellar forninst 
th' coal-bin. [Exit. 

Mrs. Dowling. Yes — Mrs. Harkaway 
could not seem to understand why tact, 
if not taste, required that the legacy 
of old Colonel Barclay to the parsonage 
should occupy a place of honor in the 
drawing-room. 

Barrington. Possibly she had ideas of 
art— 

Mrs. Dowling. She had — she had been 
an art student, and the rude strength of 
Rogers never appealed to her over- 
cultivated taste. We ladies of the 
Dorcas had a very hard time bringing 
her around to our way of thinking. As 
long as Mrs. Barclay lived it certainly 
would have been a terrible thing to hide 
her husband's legacy as though it were 
not fit to be seen. 

Mrs. Barrington. Very true. And is 
Mrs. Barclay still living. 

Mrs. Dowling. No — 



The Barringtons* "At Home" 51 

Barrington (aside). Good! I'm glad 
of that. 

Mrs. Dowling. What say, Mr. Bar- 
rington ? 

Barrington. How very sad — I — er — 
never had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. 
Barclay. 

Mrs. Dowling. She was a strong wom- 
an and we miss her dreadfully — so 
masterful. But her two daughters, 
Marian and Esther, are still with us, 
and they would feel dreadfully hurt not 
to find the groups where they have 
always been. 

[Enter James with the groups. 

James. Where'U oi putt 'em? 

Barrington. Why, suppose we place 
them on the table in the corner. 

Mrs. Dowling. I think they'd better 
go just where they were, on the mantel- 
piece. One at each end, James — they 
always balanced very well. 

[James puts them on mantel as in- 
structed. 



52 The Harringtons' "At Home" 

Mrs. Bowling. That's it. 

Mrs. Barrington. Do you like them, 
Mrs. Bowling? 

Mrs. Bowling. Well — yes and no. I 
think they are very interesting as 
specimens of — er — 

Barrington. Early American struggles 
to realize an artistic ideal. 

Mrs. Bowling. Beautifully expressed, 
Mr. Barrington. I wanted to say that 
and didn't know how. 

Mrs. Barrington. I don't think a par- 
sonage is exactly a museum for the pres- 
ervation of art struggles, however. 

Mrs. Bowling. No, Mrs. Barrington, 
but, after all, it should represent some- 
what the tastes of the good people to 
whom it belongs and who are not back- 
ward in their efforts to beautify it. 
That was a point that Mrs. Harkaway, 
your predecessor, failed to grasp, and it 
resulted in some very difficult situations. 

Mrs. Barrington. Oh, indeed; I can 
readily see that. 



The Barringtons' "At Home" 53 

Barrington. Quite so. 
Mrs. Dowling. But we are too sensible 
— people like ourselves who have ceased 
to be provincial — to add to the dif- 
ficulties of church work by opposing our 
own broader views — 

Mrs. Barrington (hopelessly). Oh, in- 
deed, yes. 

Mrs. Dowling. Sometimes acquies- 
cence is a short-cut to happiness. And 
now, my dear, one other thing before I 
go. I just knew that with all the care 
and trouble of setting this house in 
order you wouldn't have much time to 
arrange for the tea and the flowers. So 
I've brought these peonies for you. 

[Opens box of flaming red flowers. 
Removes other flowers from vases 
and throws them into the waste- 
basket, and rearranges a gaudy 
selection of peonies, hollyhocks, 
etc., in their place. 
Mrs. Dowling. There — that gives 
color to the room, does it not? 



54 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

Mrs. Barriiii^toii {with a j^nlp). Y-ycs 
it — certainly does. 

Barrington {with an cfjort at cheer- 
fulness) . Gori^oous. 

Mrs. Dcnvliiii^. Jaiiu's, brini; in the 
hamper. [lixit James. 

Mrs. Biirri)ii^t()ii. The hamper? 
Really, Mrs. Dowling, you nvc too kitul. 

Mrs. Dowling. Not at all — not at all, 
my dear. You don't know how I love 
to help. 

[James enters with hamper. 

Mrs. Dowling. Put it down here, 
James. {Indicating space before her. 
James does so. Mrs. Dowling opois it.) 
There, my dear. There is a gingerbread, 
two Washington pies, a bag of walnuts 
-your cook can crack tlicm — and I'd 
have her put a little salt on them — the 
congregation are very fond of nuts. 

Mrs. Barringion. It will be a com- 
mon bond to unite us. I am, too. 

Mrs. Dowling. So glad! And here is 
some potted tongue and chicken and 



The Barringtons' "At Home" ss 

a couple of loaves of bread. Your maid 
can make sandwiches of them, and you 
will find them also very popular. The 
last time we gave a surprise- party to Mr. 
Ilarkaway we consumed two hundred 
and eight potted-chicken sandwiches — 
just think of it! 

Barrinf^toii. Marvellous. 

Afrs. Barriiii^ton. It is so nice to lind 
out. what our p('()|)l(' like; isn't it, li^d- 
ward ? 

Hdrrin^toii. Ouitc^ so. 

Mrs. Doivliiii^. And tliis is a hottU; 
of IcMHon-juice for i\\v. Uwnonnilc. You 
ought to likt^ that, Mr. Harrington 
(coyly), for I S([U(h^Z(m1 thc^ lemons with 
my own fair liands. 

Harriiii^lon. Then we shall be able to 
(economize on sugar, Mrs. Dowling. 

Mrs. Pmvling. Now, now ! You must- 
n't make yourself too popular with the 
ladies, Mr. Harrington. Now let me see 
— oh, yes- here arc (wo dozen Japanese 
paper napkins, and Mrs. I^unce is going 



56 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

to send over a pot of jam and two 
bottles of pickles, so you'll be very well 
provided with things to eat and needn't 
worry your poor head any further on 
that score. 

Mrs. Barrington (faintly). I had order- 
ed some caf^ frapp^ from — 

Mrs. Dowling. I wouldn't waste it on 
them, my dear child. You know I've 
been all through this so many times — 
you are the fifth young couple I've 
broken in — and I know exactly what 
the Wykeham people like. That ginger- 
bread won't last five minutes, and the 
lemonade — mercy ! Well, just you wait 
and see. 

Barrington. You've been most aw- 
fully kind, Mrs. Dowling, to take so 
much trouble. 

Mrs. Dowling. There, there, Mr. Bar- 
rington. Trouble's a pleasure. Mercy 
me — it's four o'clock! How time does 
fly! I must be running home to dress. 
I wonder if this room is exactly right. 



The Barringtons' ^'At Home" 57 

Piano— Washington— Rogers— I wonder 
where Mrs. Dido's wax flowers are. 

Barrington. Wax flowers? Edna, 
have you seen any of Mrs. Dido's wax 
flowers ? 

Mrs. Barrington {aside). Hush, Ed- 
ward — please. 

Mrs. Bowling {searching about). They 
were tiger-HHes and pond-liUes under a 
glass cover. {Looks under table.) She'd 
be heartbroken if they weren't where 
they always were on the centre-table. 
Made 'em herself, you know. 

Mrs. Barrington {at door). Jane, look 
up in the attic and see if there are some 
wax flowers— pond-lilies and tiger-lilies 
under a glass cover. 

Mrs. Dowling {on her knees before sofa 
and looking under it). Ah— this looks 
like it. {Hauls out huge oval platter 
with glass cover.) Yes, these are they. 
Who could have put them there? 
Mercy! what a narrow escape. {Re- 
moves vase from centre-table and places 



58 The Barringtons' "At Home" 

the wax flowers thereon.) Mrs. Dido 
would never have forgotten it, and she 
is so necessary to the church. 

Barrington {hollowly). So glad they 
were found. 

Mrs. Bowling. So am I. Even 
"Washington Crossing the Delaware" 
missing would have been better than 
those pond-lilies in hiding. And now, 
good-bye, dear. {Kisses Mrs. Barring- 
ton.) Don't worry — I'm sure your re- 
ception will be a great success, and the 
whole congregation will appreciate your 
loving tact in changing the old manse 
about so little. Au revoir. 

\Waves her hand and goes out. 
Barrington escorts her to door. 
Mrs. Barrington throws herself in 
her chair and gazes ruefully about. 
Barrington returns. 
Barrington. My dear, how did our 
cards read, anyhow? 

Mrs. Barrington. The Reverend and 
Mrs. Barrington — 



The Barringtons' '*At Home" 59 

Barrington. Yes? 

Mrs. Barrington. AT HOME! {Looks 
about her. Sighs.) That's the way you 
wrote it, Edward. 

Barrington. I was afraid so, dear. I 
was afraid so. {Gazes around the room. 
Looks at wax flowers and sighs deeply as 
he sits and taps his fingers together.) At 
home! {Pauses.) Edna, that's the first 
lie I ever told in all my life. 



Curtain 



THE RETURN OF CHRISTMAS 



THE RETURN OF CHRISTMAS 



Dramatis Persons 
Edward Randolph, a man of railroads and trusts. 
Mrs. Edward Randolph, a social leader. 
Thomas Randolph, their son, a real boy. 
Mabel Randolph, their daughter, a real girl. 
Miss Woodbridge, a proxy mother. 
Grimmins, a butler. 
Santa Claus. an incident. 



Scene. — The drawing-room of Mr. and 
Mrs. Edward Randolph. It is lux- 
uriously appointed. As the curtain 
rises, enter Mrs. Randolph. 

Time. — Christmas Eve. 

Mrs. Randolph. I am really quite 
excited at the prospect of seeing the 
children again. Let me see, when was 
it I saw Tommy last — was it Decoration 



64 The Return of Christmas 

Day or the Fourth of July ? (A pause.) 
No, it was — oh, well, the date is of no 
importance; and Mabel — she was a 
pretty little thing, and it will be a real 
pleasure to see her once more. 
Enter Randolph. 

Mrs. Randolph {languidly). Ah, Ed- 
ward, howdido? 

Randolph. Very well, my dear. And 
you? 

Mrs. Randolph. So so. Did you ar- 
range with Santa Claus? 

Randolph. Yes. He'll be here on 
time. (Looks at watch.) Ought to be 
along in about five minutes. I trust 
that the children w411 appear promptly. 
I have an important deal on with Judge 
Astorbilt at ten o'clock. If it was any 
other night than Christmas Eve, I 
wouldn't have come home. 

Mrs. Randolph. I wish it might have 
been postponed, too. I have a bridge- 
party at nine. 

Randolph. Oh, well, it won't take 



The Return of Christmas 65 

long, if we don't talk too much. (Lights 
a cigarette.) Have one? 

Mrs. Randolph. No, thank you. I pre- 
fer my own; and, besides, I've given 
up smoking. Would you mind pressing 
the button for Grimmins, Edward? 

Randolph. Certainly. (Presses button.) 
Grimmins was very much pleased with 
his present. 

Mrs. Randolph. What did you give 
him? 

Randolph. Check for twenty-five hun- 
dred. He preferred it to a motor. 
Enter Grimmins. 

Grimmins. Did you ring, madam? 

Mrs. Randolph. Yes, Grimmins. I 
wish you would go to the children's 
apartments and tell Miss Woodbridge to 
bring Master Thomas and Miss Mabel 
here at once. 

Grimmins. Yes, madam. 

Randolph. And, by the way, Grim- 
mins, if a gentleman named Santa Claus 
calls this evening, I shall be at home. 



66 The Return of Christmas 

Grimmins, Very good, sir. And, by 
the way, sir, if I may make so bold as to 
speak of a small matter — 

Randolph. Certainly, Grimmins. 
What is it ? 

Grimmins (taking check from his 
pocket). This check, sir — I think you 
must have made a mistake. It's for 
twenty-five hundred dollars, sir — 

Randolph. That is the sum 1 designed 
to give you, Grimmins. 

Grimmins. I understand that, sir, 
but it's drawn on a Wilmington trust 
company, sir — 

Randolph. Well ? It's a solvent com- 
pany, Grimmins. 

Grimmins. I don't doubt it, sir; but 
my bank charges two dollars and a half 
for collection, sir, and I thought possibly 
you — 

Randolph. Oh, I see. Of course, 
Grimmins. My mistake. Here's the 
two-fifty. Anything else ? {Hands him 
the money.) 



ii'! ill ^m,' 






f J * 




"()!'• tOU KSIC, C.KIMMINS. MY MISIAKI 



The Return of Christmas 67 

Grimmins. No, sir. {He takes the 
money.) Thank you, sir. I will tell Miss 
Woodbridge, madam. [Exit. 

Mrs. Randolph. What a careful man 
Grimmins is! 

Randolph. Yes. Very little escapes 
his vigilant eye. I don't know how I 
came to overlook the exchange on that 
check. 

Mrs. Randolph. I fancy it's because 
you never think in sums under a thou- 
sand, Edward. 

Enter Grimmins. 

Grimmins. Miss Woodbridge! 

[Enter Miss Woodbridge. Exit 
Grimmins. 

Mrs. Randolph. You come alone, Miss 
Woodbridge? Where are the children? 

Miss Woodbridge. I regret to say that 
they are not quite ready, Mrs. Ran- 
dolph. You see — 

Mrs. Randolph. But I told you to 
have them here sharp at eight o'clock. 
This is very annoying. Both Mr. Ran- 



68 The Return of Christmas 

dolph and I have other engagements for 
this evening. 

Randolph. It's deuced inconvenient 
for me, Miss Woodbridge. I can't have 
my business affairs interfered with by 
carelessness in my household. 

Miss Woodbridge. I am very sorry, 
sir, but it is not my fault. The children 
escaped from the motor this afternoon, 
while I was in Dorlinger's buying the 
sables for the cook, and I was unable to 
find them until nearly seven o'clock, sir. 

Mrs. Randolph. My dear Miss Wood- 
bridge! Do you mean to tell me that 
my children — 

Miss Woodbridge. They are perfectly 
safe, madam. With the aid of the 
police I found them in the toy depart- 
ment at Pennypacker's. 

Mrs. Randolph. Dear, dear, dear! 
Pennypacker's, of all places in the world! 
After two hours of contact with — 
(Shudders.) Ugh! 

Miss Woodbridge. I am sorry, madam ; 



The Return of Christmas 69 

but they disobeyed my strict orders, 
and Williamson was busy under the ma- 
chine looking for the — 

Mrs. Randolph. No doubt, Miss Wood- 
bridge; but do you realize that by this 
contact with the — the proletariat, they 
may have acquired germs that will ex- 
pose us all to — 

Miss Woodbridge. Their clothing has 
all been fumigated, madam, and both 
children have had an antiseptic bath. I 
have done all I could, and Doctor Jarley 
has told me over the telephone that he 
doesn't think you need worry. 

Randolph. I guess Jarley is right, 
Amanda. I come into contact with the 
proletariat myself every day on the 
Subway, and so far — 

Mrs. Randolph. You are a great, 
strong man, Edward; and, besides, 
you've had the mumps, the measles, 
and the whooping-cough. 

Miss Woodbridge. So have the chil- 
dren, madam. 



70 The Return of Christmas 

Mrs. Randolph. What? My children 
— the measles, mumps, and whooping- 
cough? When, Miss Woodbridge? 

Miss Woodbridge. Yes, madam. I 
wrote you a note about it and gave it 
to Grimmins to deliver — last October 
was the mumps period. The whooping- 
cough was while you were in Paris last 
spring. 

Mrs. Randolph. You should have 
come and told me yourself, Miss Wood- 
bridge. 

Miss Woodbridge. I did not wish to 
expose you unnecessarily. 

Randolph. Very considerate, I'm sure. 
That explains Jarley's last quarterly 
bill. He charged eighteen hundred 
dollars for twenty-eight visits last Octo- 
ber. I meant to ask who had been ill, 
but in the trouble over the reorganiza- 
tion of M., P., & W. I forgot it. 

Mrs. Randolph. Well, I should have 
been told less informally. Hereafter, 
Miss Woodbridge, I shall have to 



The Return of Christmas 71 

trouble you to make your nursery 
reports monthly, instead of semi-an- 
nually, as heretofore. 

Enter Grimmins. 

Grimmins. Master Thomas Randolph 
and Miss Mabel Randolph! 

[The children enter and stand awk- 
wardly at the door. Exit Grim- 
mins. 

Miss Woodhridge. Come in, children, 
and meet your parents. Mrs. Randolph, 
this is your son, Thomas. Mabel, let 
me introduce you to your father. 

Mrs. Randolph (holding out her left 
hand to Tommy). Glad to see you again, 
my son. 

Tommy. Madam, the pleasure is mine. 

Mabel {to Randolph). Your face is 
very familiar to me, father. Haven't 
we met before? 

Randolph (laughing). By Jove I Mab, 
I think we have — 

Mabel. At Newport or Lenox, I think 
it was. Anyhow, you were pointed out 



72 The Return of Christmas 

to me as my father, and I was quite in- 
terested. I wasn't sure I had one. 

Tommy. He isn't your father, Mabel. 
He's mine. Miss Woodbridge said so. 

Miss Woodbridge. He belongs to both 
of you, Thomas. 

Tommy. Good. I like his looks. 
{Goes up and shakes hands with Ran- 
dolph.) By the way, father, have you 
met my mother? Mother, this is 
father. 

Mrs. Randolph. I congratulate you, 
Miss Woodbridge, upon the children's 
manners. They are quite au fait. Come 
here, Mabel. 

Mabel (hesitating). Shall I, Miss Wood- 
bridge ? 

Miss Woodbridge. Certainly, Mabel. 
The lady is your mother. 

Mabel. Oh, I am so glad! I've al- 
ways wanted to see my mother. I won- 
der if I might kiss her? 

Mrs. Randolph. Why — yes, dear, if 
you want to. {They kiss each other.) 



The Return of Christmas 73 

You must not permit the children to be 
too demonstrative, Miss Woodbridge. 

Miss Woodbridge. I do all I can to 
discourage it, madam. 

Mrs. Randolph (leaning wearily back 
in her chair). Edward, you had better 
acquaint the children with the object 
of this meeting. 

Randolph. Certainly, my dear. Chil- 
dren, this is Christmas Eve — 

Miss Woodbridge. I have explained 
that to them, Mr. Randolph. 

Randolph. Good. That saves time. 
{To children.) I have arranged to have 
Mr. Santa Claus call this evening with 
a varied assortment of Christmas gifts 
for you to choose from. 

Tommy. Fine! 

Mrs. Randolph {to Tommy). Curb 
yourself, my child. Enthusiasm of any 
sort is bad form. Go on, Edward. 

Randolph. And as your mother and 
I have very important engagements for 
the evening — business engagements — 



74 The Return of Christmas 

your mother at bridge and I at a 
directors* meeting of the Chloroform 
Trust — I must ask you to make your 
selections quickly. 

Mabel. We will, father. 
Tommy. You can count on me, sir. I 
know what I don't like. 

Randolph. We are going to let you 
choose them yourselves in order that 
there may be no dissatisfaction after- 
ward. 

Tommy. That's great! 
Mrs. Randolph. Thomas! 
Tommy. Very kind of you, I'm sure, 
Mr. Randolph. 

[Door-bell rings. 
Randolph (looking at his watch). I 
fancy that is Santa Claus now. 
Enter Grimmins. 
Grimmins. Mr. Santa Claus! 

[Enter Santa Claus. He is clad in 
full evening-dress, of the most 
modern style — swallow-tail coat, 
patent-leather shoes, white vest. 



The Return of Christmas 75 

and creased trousers. He is dap- 
per to the last degree, but in face 
and figure still the same old Santa. 
He carries a suit-case in his hand. 
Randolph. Good-evening, sir. May 
I present you to Mrs. Randolph? 

Mrs. Randolph. I am glad to see you, 
Mr. Claus. 

Santa Claus (bowing politely). I wish 
you all a very merry Christmas. 

Mrs. Randolph. Say rather a peace- 
ful Christmas, Mr. Claus. Merriment is 
hardly — 

Santa Claus. True, madam. I ac- 
cept the amendment. May your Christ- 
mas be most placid — or shall I say a 
good investment, Mr. Randolph? 

Randolph (looking at his watch) . Well, 
now, Claus, we'll drop persiflage and 
begin business. It's getting late, and we 
have work to do. Suppose we hustle 
this business along. These are the 
children I wrote you about. I've for- 
gotten how old they are — 



76 The Return of Christmas 

Mrs. Randolph. How old are they, 
Miss Woodbridge ? 

Miss Woodbridge. I haven't got the 
data with me, but I can run up-stairs 
and get it. 

Santa Claus. Oh, never mind. I can 
tell by looking at them about what will 
do for them. Howdido, children? 

Tommy. Howdido? 

Mabel. Pretty well, I thank you. 
How are you? 

Santa Claus. Fine! 

Tommy. No enthusiasm, please, Mr. 
Claus. Mother doesn't like it. 

Randolph. Go ahead and show your 
goods, Claus, and remember I don't 
stint you as to prices. 

Mrs. Randolph. That's a trifle incau- 
tious, Edward. It seems to me that 
there should be a limit. 

Santa Claus. It would expedite mat- 
ters to know what you are willing to 
spend, Mr. Randolph. There is the 
cheap and happy Christmas; there is 



The Return of Christmas 77 

the expensive Christmas — showy, but in- 
convenient after New Year's; and — 

Randolph. Oh, well, say — seventy- 
five thousand dollars. I made several 
good turns in the market to-day. 

Santa Claus. For both? 

Mrs. Randolph. Apiece. 

Randolph. Make it a hundred thou- 
sand, if you want to. 

[Santa Claus opens suit-case and 
takes out a large hook full of 
architectural drawings and a bun- 
dle of papers. 

Santa Claus. I have here the deeds 
of a number of houses at Bar Harbor, 
Lenox, and Newport, ranging from 
sixty to a hundred and twenty thousand 
dollars. No. 17 is very pretty — well 
plumbed, finished throughout in buhl 
and Chippendale, and conveniently lo- 
cated. {Hands pictures to Mrs. Ran- 
dolph, who turns to No. 17.) 

Mrs. Randolph. Very pretty, but 
hardly suitable for a child, do you think ? 



78 The Return of Christmas 

Vm sure that the children are under six- 
teen. 

Santa Claus. That all depends on the 
way you look at it, madam. If the 
children entertain a great deal or have 
an expensive guardian, or desire occa- 
sionally to receive their parents for 
little week-end parties, a house like that 
would be very nice. 

Randolph. What '11 it cost to run 
it? 

Santa Claus. It can be done simply 
on seventy-five thousand a year. 

Randolph. I try to instil into their 
minds that they ought to get along on 
five thousand dollars a month apiece, 
Mr. Claus. That is only sixty thousand 
a year. 

Tommy. Well, I don't want it at all. 
I'd rather have a stable. 

Mabel. Neither do I, father. I am 
having enough trouble with my studies 
without adding the cares of an es- 
tablishment. 



The Return of Christmas 79 

Mrs, Randolph. You are a very sen- 
sible child, Mabel. 

Randolph (with a laugh). That seems 
to settle the house business, Claus. 

Santa Claus. It's as you say, sir. I 
aim to please. We are advertised by 
our loving friends. (Puts books and 
deeds away.) 

Randolph (aside to Santa). Just leave 
that hundred - and - twenty - thousand- 
dollar Bar Harbor property here, Claus. 
I'll put it in Mrs. Randolph's stocking 
myself. 

Santa Claus (aside). All right. You'll 
never regret it, sir. (Aloud.) What 
would you think of an opera-box, 
Thomas? I have one for thirty thou- 
sand dollars. 

Tommy. I'd rather have a music-box 
for thirty cents. 

Randolph. Gad! He's a clever boy. 
I've made that same distinction myself. 

Mrs. Randolph. Don't be vulgar, 
Thomas. 



8o The Return of Christmas 

Santa Claus (holding up a large pearl 
necklace, each pearl of which is as large 
as a marrowfat pea). How would this 
do for the little girl ? 

Mrs. Randolph (taking it and in- 
specting it closely). It is very beautiful. 
What perfectly matched pearls! 

Santa Claus. You couldn't duplicate 
it, madam, for fifty thousand dollars. 

Mabel (aside to Tommy). Have I got 
to take it? 

Tommy (aside to Mabel). No. Don't 
you do it. They aren't big enough to 
play marbles with. 

Randolph. Well, Mabel, what do you 
say? 

Mabel. They're too small, father. 

Randolph (aside). Great Scott! Too 
small ! 

Mrs. Randolph. You are difficult to 
please, my child. 

Mabel. I'd prefer them as big as 
china-alleys. 

Mrs. Randolph. Mercy, Miss Wood- 



The Return of Christmas 8i 

bridge, where has Mabel got such ex- 
travagant ideas? 

Tommy (laughing, aside to Mabel). We 
got 'em at the marble counter at Penny- 
packer's, didn't we? 

Mabel. Of course I'll take them, fa- 
ther, if you wish, but I'd rather not, 
unless the pearls are larger. 

Santa Claus. How will this one do? 
(Takes out a necklace with pearls as large 
as agates.) 

Tommy. Dandy! 

Mabel. I should like that, father. 
Mrs. Randolph (looking at Mabel 
through her lorgnette). What a remark- 
able child! 

[Santa Claus hands Mabel the neck- 
lace. She hands it to Tommy, 
who plumps himself down on the 
-floor, breaks the string, and shakes 
the pearls from it. Santa Claus 
laughs quietly. 
Mrs. Randolph. Thomas, do be care- 
ful! Are they really pearls, Mr. Claus? 



82 The Return of Christmas 

Santa Claus. Yes, madam, and so ab- 
solutely flawless that even an expert 
cannot tell them from the imitation. 

Mabel (sitting on floor two yards away 
from Tommy, and facing him). It's all 
right, mother. We only wanted them 
to play marbles with. (Tommy rolls 
half the pearls over to her.) 

Mrs. Randolph (shows signs of faint- 
ness, and puts smelling-salts to her nose). 
Marbles! Miss Woodbridge 

Santa Claus (aside). They are human, 
after all! 

Randolph (pridefully) . Gad, that boy 
handles pearls as if they were railroads I 

Mrs. Randolph. But, Edward, are you 
going to permit your children to play 
marbles with — (gasps) — with pearls? 

Randolph (as Tommy flicks a pearl 
across to where Mabel has set three others 
in a row, missing them). Well, my dear, 
of course I'd rather they'd play marbles 
with marbles, but — well, blood will tell. 

Tommy (making a second effort to score 




ARE YOU GOIXG TO PERMIT YOUR CHILDREN TO PLAY 
MARBLES WITH PEARLS?*" 



The Return of Christmas 85 

and again missing). Oh, pshaw! These 
aren't any good. They're too Hght. 
Say, father, can't we swap them off for 
a hundred dollars' worth of real miggs ? 

Mrs. Randolph. Miggs! What a ple- 
beian word ! 

Randolph (kneeling beside Tommy). 
Let me try it, my son. {Flicks a pearl 
across the room.) You are perfectly 
right. They are too light. Claus, have 
you got any real marbles for the 
children ? 

Santa Claus. Not at that price, sir. 

Randolph. Money is no object with 
us. What would the best bag of marbles 
in all the world cost? 

Santa Claus. About a dollar and a 
half 

Tommy. Whoopee! That's what / 
want, father! 

Randolph. You shall have them, my 
son. 

Santa Claus (reaching down into the 
suit-case). I always carry them for an 



84 The Return of Christmas 

emergency. {Produces red flannel bag 
bulging with marbles.) 

Mabel {gathering up the pearls). Here 
are your pearls, Mr. Claus. I think I'd 
like a bag of marbles, too. 

Mrs. Raitdolph. Possibly a set of 
books would do better for a young lady. 
Have you a set of — er — George Eliot, or 
— er — de Maupassant in tree-calf, Mr. 
Claus? 

Mabel. Or Little Red Riding-Hood in 
a yellow-and-red shiny cover? I saw 
a Little Red Riding-Hood at Penny- 
packer's, mother, and really I liked it 
better than Mrs. Humphry Ward, even. 

Randolph {aside). By Jingo, I didn't 
know I had such interesting children! 

Santa Claus. I have the Little Red 
Riding-Hood — but again the price may — 

Randolph. Confound it, let the child 
have it! I'll buy it if I have to sell a 
couple of railroads to pay for it. What's 
the tax, Claus? 

Santa Claus. Seventy-five cents. 



The Return of Christmas 83 

Randolph. It's a bargain! 

[Santa Claus takes the book from his 
suit-case and hands it to Mabel, 
who immediately walks to her 
mother's side and places the book, 
open, on her mother's lap. 
Mabel. Would you like to look at the 
pictures, Mrs. Randolph? 

Mrs. Randolph {stroking Mabel's hair). 
Yes — dear. Only don't call me that. 
Mabel. But you are that, aren't you? 
Mrs. Randolph. Yes, but I'm also 
your mother. I had a mother, too, once 
—oh, a great many years ago! I used 
to call her "dearie." 

Mabel. That's very pretty. Maybe 
when we get better acquainted I can call 
you "dearie," too. 

Mrs. Randolph. Yes — and perhaps 
if you began to practise it now — 

Mabel. I will— dearie. It comes aw- 
fully easy— doesn't it ? (Climbs into her 
mother's lap and kisses Iter). Now we 
can look at the pictures together. 



86 The Return of Christmas 

Enter Grimmins. 

Grimmins. The car is at the door, 
madam. 

Mrs. Randolph. The car? 

Rmtdolph. Yes — you are going to 
the Hawkins' for bridge, aren't you? 

Mabel. Don't you do it, dearie. vStay 
here and read to me, won't you? 

Mrs. Randolph. Why, Mabel, dear, I 
— I — why, yes, of course I will. I — I 
don't think I shall go out to-night, 
Edward. Miss Woodbridge, will you 
please write a note and send it to Mrs. 
Hawkins by Williamson, saying that I 
— that I am detained at home to-night, 
and shall be unable to join her partv at 
bridge ? 

Miss Woodbridge. Yes, Mrs. Ran- 
dolph. [Exit. 

Santa Claus {gathering up his stuff 
and closing the bag with a smile). I am 
afraid, Mr. Randolph, that I got the 
wrong line on these children of yours. 
I'll go out and get my other pack. 



The Return of Christmas 87 

Randolph. All right! 
Santa Claus. I sha'n't be a minute. 

[Exit. 
Tommy {on the floor). Say, Randolph, 
let's have a game ! 

Randolph. What's that you call me, 
you young rascal? 

Tommy. Why, it's your name, isn't it? 

Randolph. Not to you, Mr. Saucebox. 

My name to you, sir, from this time on 

is "daddy." Understand? D-a-d-d-y, 

daddy. 

Tommy. All right, daddy. Say — you 
can call me Tommy, if you like. 

[They begin a game of marbles. 
Santa Claus returns. This time he 
is dressed in his fur coat, and he 
has sleigh-bells around his waist, 
a fur cap, and all the other attri- 
butes of the Santa Claus of old. 
He plants a big pack of toys on the 
floor and leaves the room again. 
Mabel {tapping pages of Little Red 
Riding-Hood). Read that, dearie. 



88 The Return of Christmas 

Mrs. Randolph (reading). " Once upon 
a time there was a little girl — " 

Tommy. Here now — fen dubs! You 
got to play fair, daddy. 

Randolph. I — I was thinking of some- 
thing else, Tommy. You'll have to ex- 
cuse me if I break the rules — it's so long 
since — 

[Enter Santa Claus, carrying a 
Christmas-tree covered with span- 
gles, lustres, etcetera. 

Santa Claus, There, Mr. Randolph. 
That completes the lay-out! 

Randolph. Fine! Like old times — eh, 
Amanda ? 

Mrs. Randolph. Oh, isn't it beautiful, 
Mabel.? 

Mabel. It ain't as beautiful as you 
are. (Hugs her mother.) 

Santa Claus. I don't know how I 
came to make so many mistakes in the 
beginning, children. 

Tommy. Don't mention it, Santa 
Claus. You're all right. You've de- 



The Return of Christmijs 89 

liv«*re(J liie ^ouclti, and now lliaL you've 
cliaiige(J your clothes you lo(jk hke the 
real thing! 

Mabel. Only, next time get your 
things at Pennypacker's, Mr. Chius, 
They know children there. 

Randolph. I guess they do I guess 
they do. It's all my fault, Claus. 
I've been studying markets exclusively 
lately, and haven't had a line <jii iln- 
youngsters for too long a time. 

Mrs. Randolph. We didn't kjiow oui 
selves, Mr. Claus, until a minute ago. 

Santa Claus. Well, it's all right, any- 
how. The whole four of you have got 
the best Christmas anybody could have 
— that's the old-timer, and I'm just as 
glad to see it back as you an (iood 
night, Tommy! 

Tommy (rising and shaking hands 
with Santa Claus). Good -night, sir. Af 
ways glad to see you. Wou]<]jj'1. injud 
if you came once a month! 

Mabel. Good-night, Mr. Claus. 'i hank 



90 The Return of Christmas 

you for the beautiful book — I'd rather 
have it than anything else I know of. 
(Runs to him and kisses him. Santa 
Claus salutes all, and exit.) 
Enter Grimmins. 

Grimmins. A telephone from Judge 
Astorbilt at the Castoria, sir. He 
would like to know when you will be 
down. 

Randolph. Great Scott! I'd forgotten 
all about the Chloroform Trust. Tell 
him — 

Mrs. Randolph. Is it so very impor- 
tant, Edward? 

Randolph (hesitating). Well, no. Only 
two or three millions in it for me. Er — 
Grimmins ! 

Grimmins. Yes, sir. 

Randolph. Tell them to tell Judge 
Astorbilt that I am unexpectedly de- 
tained at home by important matters. 
Important matters, mind you — I'll skin 
you yet, Tommy! — and that I'll see him 
at my office the day after to-morrow — 



The Return of Christmas 91 

no, by Jove, not the day after to-morrow, 
but the day after New Year's. 

Grimmins. Yes, sir. [Exit. 

Enter Miss Woodbridge. 

Miss Woodbridge. It is time you were 
in bed, Thomas. Come, Mabel. 

Mrs. Randolph. Not to-night, Miss 
Woodbridge — we'll let them stay up to- 
night. 

Tommy. Fen inching there! 

Mrs. Randolph. And you need not 
wait up. Miss Woodbridge. I — I will 
put the children to bed myself to-night. 
I wish you a merry Christmas ! 

Miss Woodbridge. Good-night, mad- 
am. The same to you. [Exit. 

Mrs. Randolph. Come back here on 
my lap, Mabel, dear. We must go 
on with this exciting story, and learn 
what happened to Little Red Riding- 
Hood. 

Mabel. Begin at the beginning, dearie, 
and I'll pay you a kiss a page ; and here's 
a half-dozen in advance. 



92 The Return of Christmas 

Mrs. Randolph. Thank you, dear, and 
here is your change. (Kisses Mabel 
three times, smiles, and begins reading). 
"Once upon a time there was a little 
girl who lived on the edge of a wood, 
and her grandmother — " 



Curtain 



THE SIDE-SHOW 



THE SIDE-SHOW 



Dramatis Persons 

Mr. Gassaway, a lecturer. 

Tiny, the Titanic Dwarf. Height, six feef two inches. 

Sawdoff, The Diminutive Giant. Height, four feet five 

inches. 
Mademoiselle Outasighti, The Invisible Soprano. 
Professor Hirsutus, the Bearded Man. 
SiGNOR Del Fatto. the Living Skeleton. Weight 280 

pounds. 
Mo-Mo, the Boy with the Human Face. 
Ignota, the Domestic Wonder. 
Madame Panini, the Culinary Curio. 
Amanda, the Phcminine Phenomenon. 



Scene — The proscenium arch of an im- 
provised theatre. The curtain rising 
shows a space of four feet in depth, full 
width of stage, at the rear of which 
hang curtains, divided at centre like 
portieres, of " The Great and Only 
Gassaway' s Freak Show.'' Two lads 
stand facing audience, holding por- 
tieres. 



96 The Side-Show 

Enter Mr. Gassaway. He is a man 
of considerable nerve, unctuous in man- 
ner and in general appearance resem- 
bles a mixture of the unappreciated 
tragedian and a politician in a lean 
year. He is armed with a rattan 
cane. 

Gassaway. Ladies and gentlemen, it is 
my proud privilege this evening to in- 
troduce to your notice the greatest 
aggregation of social marvels that has 
ever been gathered together in any 
known period of history, or at any place 
that is now to be found upon any of the 
recognized maps of the earth. It is 
not excelled anywhere — not even in this 
glorious country of ours, which the poet 
has so aptly termed "the Home of the 
Brave and the Land of the Freak." 
What their cost to me has been I can 
only intimate to you by saying that I 
keep them insured for six million nine 
hundred and forty-three thousand four 
hundred and seventy-seven dollars and 



The Side-Show 97 

sixty- three cents. This includes life, 
fire, and burglar insurance, for which in 
premiums alone I pay eight hundred 
and ninety-eight thousand dollars per 
annum. (A crash as of broken glass is 
heard without. Gassaway starts ner- 
vously and clutches his forehead with his 
left hand.) Excuse me just one mo- 
ment. 

[Exit Gassaway. His voice is heard 
outside. 

What's that? Great Scott— Jones, 
if this happens again I'll discharge you. 
[Gassaway re-enters, calling hack 
into the wings. 

Such outrageous carelessness! {Turn- 
ing to audience.) I am sorry to have to 
announce, ladies and gentlemen, that 
through the carelessness of one of my 
stage -hands our world-famous Brid- 
getine, the Maid That Never Breaks 
Anything, secured at a cost of $60,000, 
has tripped over a hassock on the 
floor and broken all the glass and 



98 The Side-Show 

china ware in the house. I doubt 
if the material can be repaired in 
time for this evening's performance, 
although I have on hand a few bottles 
remaining of my famous Liquid Stick- 
fast, warranted to hold inseparably to- 
gether any two articles desired to be made 
fast to each other, for sale at ten cents 
a bottle. {Takes bottle from pocket and 
holds it up between his thumb and fore- 
finger.) It is an excellent household 
preparation, and, as evidence of its 
power, let me tell you that the Sultan 
of Bangabang in India last year, in order 
to test its efficacy, placed a drop of it 
on the tip end of the tails of two ele- 
phants, the which, when placed to- 
gether and held for two minutes, the 
elephants themselves, each weighing 
thirty tons, were unable to pull apart. 
We were compelled subsequently to 
cut the elephants' tails off in order that 
they might be returned to their usual 
occupation of drawing the Sultan's au- 



The Side-Show 99 

tomobile. Any lady desiring a bottle 
of this incomparable preparation for the 
mending of furniture, broken china, or 
keeping her husband at home nights by 
sprinkling it on his chair, will please 
apply at the box-office on the way out, 
or notify the ushers, who are authorized 
to take orders for Gassaway's Invinci- 
ble Adhesive. It is especially recom- 
mended for fastening postage-stamps on 
letters. 

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for 
our exhibition. The first of the freaks 
which I will show you is the world- 
famous Tiny, the Titanic Dwarf. He 
was captured on the Congo four years 
ago by my agents, who had been in- 
structed to spare no expense in securing 
for me something novel in the way of 
dwarfs. I think you will agree with me 
that in Titanic Tiny they have succeeded 
in unearthing a dwarf unlike any other 
dwarf you have ever seen before. Cur- 
tain. 



100 The Side-Show 

[The boys draw the curtains aside. 
Behind them is a small dais sur- 
rounded on all sides by dark 
hangings. On the dais stands 
Tiny, the Titanic Dwarf. He is 
black as the ace of spades, and 
has a grin as wide almost as space. 
He stands six feet two inches in 
his stockings and is broad in pro- 
portion. 
Look at him, ladies and gentlemen, 
and tell me if in any other aggregation 
of astonishing actualities you have ever 
beheld a dwarf of his dimensions ? Look 
at his stature. Glance at those pro- 
portions, and with your hand on your 
heart state .to me the real truth. Was 
there ever before a dwarf of his height, 
breadth, depth, and general thickness? 
{Raps him on the head with his rattan 
stick, producing a hard, wooden sound.) 
You have seen dwarfs two feet high, 
possibly even three feet nine inches, 
but when or where have you encountered 



The Side-Show loi 

one who from top to toe measures six 
feet two inches? I offer ten thousand 
dollars in gold to any purchaser of my 
famous adhesive who will produce an- 
other dwarf who is his equal in all 
respects. You will find his photograph 
on sale in the lobby at ten cents apiece. 
Curtain. 

[The boys lower the curtain. A tall 
man rises in the audience. 

Tall Man. I'll take that $10,000, Mr. 
Gassaway. I'm a dwarf myself. I 
don't look it, but I am. 

Gassaway. You do look it, sir — but 
have you purchased any of my Liquid 
Invincible Adhesive.? 

Tall Man. No, sir. 

Gassaway. Then I regret to inform 
you, sir, that you are not eligible. I 
distinctly said, to any purchaser of my 
famous Gumstickum. Moreover, you 
are not his equal. Socially you are his 
superior. Our next exhibit, ladies and 
gentlemen, is equally marvellous — Sawd- 



102 The Side-Show 

off, the Diminutive Giant, the shortest 
ogre in the universe. Curtain. 

[The boys draw the curtains aside and 
Sawdoff is revealed standing upon 
the dais. He is not more than 
four feet five inches in height. He 
scowls fearfully, and twirls a 
fierce-looking club in his hands. 
There you are, ladies and gentlemen — 
a veritable ogre. He was found on the 
back steppes of Russia by a party of 
mining engineers engaged in building a 
trans-Ural subway connecting Bombay 
with St. Petersburg. After devouring ten 
members of the expedition, for he is 
a Cannibal, he was captured and in- 
carcerated in a cage. Biting his way 
through the bars, he escaped, and to 
gratify his insatiable appetite ate seven- 
teen rods of surveyors' chains, five 
telescopes, the tonneau of the chief- 
engineer's automobile, and drank six- 
teen gallons of wood gasolene. The 
latter threw him into such a stupor that 



The Side-Show 103 

he was recaptured without difficulty, 
sent to a reform school in New York, 
and is now quite tame. You have seen 
giants of great height in the past, 
perhaps, but never one as short as he. 
He considers brevity the soul of wit 
and — 

Sawdoff {rolling his eyes hungrily) . Pst ! 
Gassaway. What is it, Sawdoff? 
[Sawdoff whispers in Gassaway's 
ear, and grins, pointing out at the 
audience. 
Gassaway. He says he is very hun- 
gry, ladies and gentlemen, and he won- 
ders if any kind lady in the audience 
will let him have a nice, fat, little grilled 
boy or girl, not more than two years old, 
for luncheon? He promises to eat it 
very tenderly. {A pause.) Such an op- 
portunity is not likely to occur again, 
ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you. 
[Sawdoff gazes hungrily out at au- 
dience, smacking his lips in an- 
ticipation. 



I04 The Side-Show 

Maybe some of you would give him 
one of your neighbor's children — any- 
thing at all in the way of a nice, fat, 
juicy baby will satisfy him ? {A pause.) 
It's a wonderful sight — No? Well, 
Sawdoff, I observe a slight inclination 
on the part of the audience not to oblige 
you. You'll have to content yourself 
with one of the ushers after the show 
is over. I'll pick out a nice tender one 
for you, so don't worry. 

[Sawdoff weeps. 

Gassaway. Curtain. {Boys let down 
curtains.) You see how gentle the poor 
fellow is. (Gassaway wipes his own 
eyes as if much affected.) It hurts him 
deeply to find such a lack of confidence 
in him. Fact is, it crops out every- 
where, and for the three years I have had 
him I've been utterly unable to secure 
a baby of any kind, fat or otherwise, 
for his luncheon. Parents seem to be 
afraid it will hurt the little ones, failing 
to note that he swallows them whole, 



The Side-Show 105 

without the painful process of chewing. 
Numerous maiden aunts and mothers-in- 
law have been offered freely, but never 
an infant, and Sawdoff feels the situa- 
tion keenly. If you would get some 
idea of the effect of this diet upon his 
digestion, just try to eat a couple of 
maiden aunts and a mother-in-law some 
day yourself, and you'll see. But 
enough of the trials of Sawdoff. I take 
a peculiar pride in my next exhibit, 
ladies and gentlemen. I have been in 
the show business for thirty-seven years 
and never have I seen anything like 
this Pheminine Phenomenon about to be 
shown to you. Mr. Flammerstein, the 
eminent impresario of New York, has 
offered me two hundred thousand dollars 
for her, but I would not let her go for 
ten times that amount. Curtain, boys. 
[Boys draw curtains aside. A young 
girl of twenty one or two stands 
on the dais, smiling. She is 
dressed in a sort of Commencement 



io6 The Side-Show 

gown and stands with her hands 
outstretched as if about to recite. 

There she is. Amanda, the Phe- 
nomenal Recitationist. She is the only 
girl in the world, ladies and gentle- 
men, who knows The Curfew Shall Not 
Ring To-night by heart, and absolute- 
ly refuses under any circumstances what- 
ever to recite it, and I will prove it to 
you. Amanda ? 

Amanda. Yes, sir. 

Gassaway. Tell these ladies and gentle- 
men — do you know that beautiful poem, 
The Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night? 

Amanda. I do. I know it by heart. 

Gassaway. You see, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, she admits it herself. Now, 
Amanda, will you recite it for us ? 

Amanda. Not for ten thousand dollars, 
sir. 

Gassaway. Amanda, I will give you 
twenty thousand dollars and a box of 
caramels if you will recite The Curfew 
Shall Not Ring To-night. 



The Side-Show 107 

Amanda. Nope. 

Gassaway. Thirty thousand dollars 
and a ticket for the Faversham matinee. 

Amanda {shakes her head positively). 
It is useless to ask, Mr. Gassaway. 

Gassaway. Now, ladies and gentle- 
men, as evidence of our good faith, has 
any gentleman in the audience any offer 
to make? Don't be afraid. I know 
her. {An usher walks down middle 
aisle and hands a note over footlights to 
Gassaway.) 

Gassaway {opening letter) . What's this ? 
{Reads.) Ha! Good. Amanda, there's 
a gentleman back in the sixteenth row 
who will give you forty thousand dollars' 
worth of green-trading stamps, redeem- 
able in hand-painted crockery, mission 
furniture, and kerosene lamps, if you 
will recite The Cur jew Shall Not Ring 
To-night. What do you say? 

Amanda {stamping her foot impa- 
tiently). Never! 

Gassaway. Is it any wonder, ladies 



loS The Side-Show 

and gentlemen, that Mr. Flammerstein 
wants Amanda at almost any price? 
Curtain. 

[Boys draw curtains together. 
Now, ladies and gentlemen, the next 
exhibit on the programme was to 
have been my famous Boneyparte, the 
Ossified Book Agent, but I regret to 
say that going from Chicago to Phila- 
delphia last week, Bow-Bow, the Dog- 
Faced Dachshund, got loose in the 
car and chewed him all to pieces, sub- 
sequently himself dying from an acute 
attack of appendicitis as a result of his 
unbridled appetite. We are therefore 
compelled, regretfully, to omit Boney- 
parte and to go right on to the next 
wonder of whom you may have heard. 
He is possibly the most widely ad- 
vertised freak of the age. Professor 
Hirsutus the Bearded Gentleman. Cur- 
tain. 

[Boys draw curtains aside revealing 
Professor Hirsutus, a man with a 



The Side-Show 109 

flowing black beard, bearing a 
more or less marked resemblance 
to Svengali. 

In other freak shows, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, you will find bearded ladies so 
numerous that there really has ceased to 
be anything particularly novel about 
them, but a Bearded Gentleman — where, 
may I ask, in all the freak firmament do 
you find such a capillary attraction as 
that ? Look at him. A man of consider- 
able impressiveness, is he not ? And grow- 
ing on his chin, a beard — a black beard 
— of real hair. And in order that you 
may have no misgivings as to its gen- 
uineness, I will pull it. {Steps forward 
and tweaks the Professor's beard.) 

Hirsutus. Ow — wow! Stop that! 

Gassaway. You see, ladies and gentle- 
men — {pulling beard again.) 

Hirsutus. Ouch! Quit it, will you? 

Gassaway. It not only does not come 
off, but when tweaked actually imparts 
a painful sensation to the Professor's 



no The Side-Show 

chin that causes him to wince, to pro- 
test audibly. And all of this, my 
friends, is a natural growth, as the 
Professor will tell you himself, if after 
our programme is finished you will stop 
and purchase some of his famous tonic 
by the use of which he manages to pre- 
serve that which nature has given him 
in all its pristine silky beauty, at the 
rate of ten cents a bottle. Curtain, if 
you please, young gentlemen. 

[Boys draw curtains together. 
The next attraction on our programme 
is Signor Del Fatto, the Living Skeleton. 
Of course, ladies and gentlemen, there 
are few of you who have not attended 
side-shows of one kind or another in the 
course of a misspent life, but I'll warrant 
that never have any of you seen a 
living skeleton like Signor Del Fatto. 
What I claim for him is that he has none 
of that repulsiveness which makes the 
average living skeleton a more or less 
painful object to look upon. There is 



The Side-Show in 

none of that egregious gauntness about 
him that leads you to feel that he is 
slowly but surely starving to death, so 
characteristic of the most famous living 
skeletons of the past. There is none 
of that hungering misery in his face that 
arouses rather your deep sympathy than 
your admiring wonder. Your impulse 
on seeing him is rather to rejoice in his 
sleek prosperity than to charge the man- 
agement with cruelty to its freaks — but 
enough of description. We will let the 
Living Skeleton speak for himself. Cur- 
tain, young gentlemen. 

[Boys draw curtains to one side. 
Sitting on dais in a comfortable 
arm-chair is a cheer jul - looking 
man of oleaginous personality, 
who weighs about two hundred and 
eighty pounds. In general ap- 
pearance he resembles Dickens' 
fat boy. As curtains reach their 
height, he rises and bows with a 
well-fed smile to the audience. 



112 The Side-Show 

There you are, my friends. Look at 
him. Turn around, Signor Del Fatto, and 
let the ladies and gentlemen gaze upon 
your back — sixty- two inches broad. His 
waist — (takes a tape-measure from his 
pocket and measures Signor Del Fatto 's 
waist line, holding out tape at finish) — 
his waist measurement is one hundred 
and forty-four inches, or four yards. If 
any gentleman — or lady either — in the 
audience will submit proofs to me of 
their ever having seen elsewhere a Liv- 
ing Skeleton of such circumference, I 
will cheerfully hand him my personal 
check for ten thousand dollars. I will 
go further and knock off thirty-six 
inches, or one ordinary waist, and say 
that if you can bring ten witnesses who 
will swear that they have seen in any of 
the high, low, or middle class side-shows 
of Europe, Asia, Africa, or the United 
States a Living Skeleton measuring 
three yards about the waist-line I will 
give fifteen thousand dollars' worth of 



The Side-Show 1 13 

my Invincible Adhesive to any orphan 
asylum he may name. (Pauses.) No 
one takes me up. I thought so, and, to 
be quite frank with you, I would not 
have made the offer had I not been sure 
that you could not, for Signor Del 
Fatto is the only Living Skeleton of his 
kind. How much do you weigh, Signor ? 

Del Fatto. Before or after? 

Gassaway. Before or after what, Sig- 
nor? 

Del Fatto. Dinner, sir. 

Gassaway. Oh, you might give us 
both figures. You note, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, that he has two figures, while 
most Living Skeletons have only one. 
What are the figures, Del Fatto ? 

Del Fatto. Two hundred and eighty- 
two pounds before dinner. 

Gassaway. Yes. And after dinner? 

Del Fatto. Well, it depends upon the 
dinner, Mr. Gassaway, but most gen- 
erally on salary day, sir, three hundred 
and eleven pounds, sir. 



114 The Side-Show 

Gassaway (triumphantly) . Think of it! 
A Living Skeleton weighing three hun- 
dred and eleven pounds, ladies and 
gentlemen. I challenge the world to 
produce another like him, and when I 
think that I am willing to let you see 
him for so insignificant a sum as one 
dime, charging nothing for my other 
attractions, I wonder — yes, ladies and 
gentlemen, I actually wonder at my 
moderation. Mr. John P. Pennypacker, 
with all his vast wealth, would have 
charged you at least a quarter. Cur- 
tain. Good-bye, Signor. 

[Del Fatto bows and boys draw cur- 
tains together. 

Gassaway. I am not going to describe 
the next freak, ladies and gentlemen, 
best known as the Man from Bingham- 
ton. No words of mine could do justice 
to his unique oddity. All I will say to 
you about him is that he is an American 
— born and bred at Binghamton, favor- 
ably known to you as one of the many 



The Side-Show 115 

literary centres of Western New York. 
His own actions will prove him to be one 
of the few real wonders of the age. 
Curtain. 

[Boys draw curtains aside, revealing 
a tired - looking individual who 
sits staring sleepily at the audience 
as though bored to death. Oc- 
casionally he yawns and stretches 
his arms wearily. 
Now, if the audience will kindly pre- 
serve entire quiet and keep their eyes 
upon this gentleman they will see some- 
thing that I venture to say will arouse 
their keenest interest. I have witnessed 
the exercise of this man's strange gift 
as many as twenty thousand times, I 
should say, and I have never yet failed 
to wonder at it myself. Age cannot 
wither nor custom stale its infinite 
uniquosity. {Takes a copy of London 
Punch jrom table at his side.) You 
see this object, ladies and gentlemen. 
It is nothing more nor less than a copy 



ii6 The Side-Show 

of England's famous funny paper. 
{Opening leaves and displaying the whole 
paper.) You can see for yourselves 
that it is the real thing. It has no 
false backs, bottoms, or sides. It con- 
tains no interpolations of any sort, and, 
as you see it, it is exactly as it came 
from the printing-press in London. I 
hand it to this gentleman. (He does so. 
Freak reaches forward and takes it, 
wearily.) Now, sir, if you will kindly 
begin. Watch him carefully, everybody. 
One, two, three! (Claps his hands.) 
Begin. 

[The languid freak begins to read. 
He gradually emerges from his 
stupor. The weary look fades 
from his face and an eager in- 
terest comes into its place. Then 
he smiles broadly. Turns over a 
page and giggles. A moment later 
he begins to laugh aloud. He 
becomes wholly alert and finally 
goes off into a perfect gale of 



The Side-Show 117 

laughter, roaring aloud and slap- 
ping his knees with mirthful de- 
light. At the climax of his hys- 
terical laughter, Gassaway calls 
for the curtain and it falls slowly, 
showing the freak in convulsions of 
mirth. 
Gassaway. I have travelled far, ladies 
and gentlemen, but until I encountered 
this person I never saw an American who 
could laugh like that over London Punch. 
Moreover, we have three times had his 
sanity tested by the leading alienists of 
the age, and in every instance he has 
been pronounced to be, in all other 
respects, a man of the highest intel- 
ligence. 

We will now pass on, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, to one of the most appealing 
phenomena of our show. You have all 
of you seen that wonderful creature in 
the Barnum shows of the past, referred 
to by press agents and advertising 
managers of that great aggregation as 



Ii8 The Side-Show 

the most Stupefying and Stupendous 
Stupidity of the Freak World, Jo- Jo, 
the Dog-faced Boy. I think I have 
found his equal in Mo-Mo, the Boy with 
the Human Face. I found him only 
last summer on a farm near Akron, 
Ohio, living with his parents and en- 
tirely unaware of his own wonderful 
qualities as a freak, and you have the 
privilege of being the first to whom I 
have presented him. My reason for 
keeping him off the platform all this 
time has been my desire to assure my- 
self that the strange character of his 
face was permanent, and not a mere 
passing illusion. Boys' faces, as you 
are doubtless aware, take on sudden 
and disturbing changes, and I feared 
that possibly Mo-Mo might be suscep- 
tible to those freaks of fortune which 
would destroy his chief value as an ex- 
hibit in a side-show. But as time has 
run along his face has remained always 
exactly as it was when I first saw him — 



The Side-Show 119 

intensely hixman. Curtain, please, my 
lads. 

[Curtains are drawn and Mo-Mo 
stands revealed. He may grin 
or not, as he pleases, and, if he 
desires to wink at other boys in 
the audience in order to give him- 
self greater confidence, there is no 
objection to his doing so. He 
may also make faces, but is not 
required to do so at this stage of 
the proceedings. 
I shall be very glad to have you ob- 
serve this exhibit very closely. Look 
at the nose — it is just such a nose as 
you will find upon a human being; the 
lips have that same smiling conforma- 
tion that you find in creatures of your 
own species and the teeth, instead of 
being tusky or mere fang-shaped den- 
toids such as you ordinarily find in the 
lower orders of human beings, are as 
nearly like yours and mine as they could 
well be. The ears are a trifle large, but 



I20 The Side-Show 

perfectly formed, with lobes and auric- 
ular passages precisely similar to our 
own. The chin is pronounced, not miss- 
ing as in most animals, and the fore- 
head is well shaped and prominent, not 
low and receding as you might expect. 
Surmounting the whole you will see a 
shock of hair that is soft and silky, with 
no trace whatever of a bristle. I con- 
sider myself most fortunate in having 
happened upon this boy with the hu- 
man face before he was snapped up 
by others. His disposition is gentle, 
and when he uses his voice it is not in 
short, sharp, jerky barks or yelps, but in 
rather musical, well-modulated sounds 
that bear a remarkable resemblance to 
spoken words. This I will let you ob- 
serve for yourselves. Mo-Mo, can you 
let us hear you speak? 

Mo'Mo. Awh, whatcher givin' us? 

Gassaway. You see, ladies and gentle- 
men, it is as I have said — you would 
almost think he was using human speech. 



The Side-Show 121 

"Awh, whatcher givin' us," sounds al- 
most like the questioning of a human 
soul having like aspirations to our own. 
Another trial: Mo-Mo, if some kind gen- 
tleman in the audience were to offer 
you a piece of strawberry shortcake 
and a glass of ginger -pop, would you 
accept them? 

Mo-Mo. Betcherlife! 

Gassaway. A favorite expression of 
Mo-Mo's, ladies and gentlemen, signify- 
ing assent. It resembles strongly the 
idiom used in certain grades of human 
society, employed to express the emo- 
tion of entire certainty, a sense of un- 
questionable confidence. This strange 
little creature is very gentle by nature, 
but subject to sudden fits of indisposi- 
tion about nine o'clock in the morning 
during the school season. From these 
he recovers rapidly, however, as the 
luncheon hour approaches, by after- 
noon showing slight evidences of illness, 
if any. He feeds largely on pie and the 



122 The Side-Show 

drum-sticks of chicken, and it is only 
when he eats that he betrays very 
materially that animal nature the exist- 
ence of which the human quality of his 
face seems to deny. Curtain, boys. 

[The Boy with the Human Face 
makes faces at the curtain boys, 
and twiddles both thumbs at his 
ears at the audience, making his 
hands look like bats' wings as the 
curtain falls and the lecturer re- 
sumes. 
Gassaway. In presenting my next 
human wonder, ladies and gentlemen, 
I feel that I am making what may be 
called a special appeal to the ladies. 
A mere man will probably see nothing 
extraordinary in the peculiarities of 
Madame Panini, the Culinary Curio, but 
in the hearts of the ladies she will un- 
questionably strike a responsive chord. 
I am aware that I run an especial risk 
in exhibiting her in this particular 
community, where creatures of her 



The Side-Show 123 

kind are as scarce as Koh-i-noors in the 
British crown, but I warn you now that 
any attempt to get her away from me 
will be met by all the resistance on my 
part which the laws of contract make 
possible. Madame Panini, while in no 
sense a mere chattel, is for the next 
five years as unalterably my property 
as though she were nothing more than 
a grand piano which I had bought 
and paid for with my own money. She 
has signed a cast-iron contract which 
gives to me the exclusive use of her 
services for the coming five years. 
There is no loop-hole of evasion left in 
its provisions by which, yielding to the 
tempting offers of larger wages — I pay 
her five thousand dollars a week, the 
exact sum which Madame Screecherini, 
the Eminent Fareweller, receives for dis- 
playing her lack of voice on the vaude- 
ville stage — she may endeavor to escape 
me. Hence, I should advise any of you 
who may be inclined to make the at- 



124 Th^ Side-Show 

tempt to get her away from mine into 
your own employ, to spare yourselves 
the pain of a refusal. Curtain. 

[The boys draw the curtains aside and 
Madame Panini is shown standing 
on the dais. She presents a pict- 
ure somewhat resembling in its 
general outlines the statuesque pre- 
sentments of Minerva by the Greek 
sculptors of renoum, only instead 
of holding in her hands the shield 
and lance, with her brow sur- 
mounted by the helmet of learning, 
she holds a rolling-pin in her left 
hand, a frying-pan is held shield- 
wise in her right, with her auburn 
locks restrained from flying too 
loosely by an inverted blue enam- 
elled-ware kettle, which she wears 
on her head, set well back, with the 
handle sticking out behind like a 
steel-constructed pigtail. 
This noble figure, ladies and gentle- 
men, is not, as you might think, a rep- 



The Side-Show 125 

lica from the hands of Phidias of some 
marvelled bit of sculptuary. It is not 
the Goddess Minerva, the embodiment 
of wisdom of the ancients, but a woman 
of to-day, Madame Panini, until the 
first of last month a cook. Yes, ladies 
and gentlemen, a cook! Gaze upon her. 
Feast your eyes upon her, and you who 
are now merely children, in some future 
age, remember to tell your grandchildren 
that you have seen her. Your mothers 
will tell you why she must be set down 
as the most unique product of the 
twentieth century. 

[A pause, 

Man in the Audience. I don't see any- 
thing wonderful in a plain cook. 

Gassaway. Doubtless you don't — you 
are a man — but, as I have said, Madame 
Panini's marvellous qualities will appeal 
more especially to the ladies. Madame 
Panini is a cook — yes; nothing won- 
derful in that, but when I tell you 
that she has remained in one place 



126 The Side-Show 

for a period of time exceeding six 
months — 

Voice in Audience. No — no! 

Gassaway {taking a note from his 
pocket and reading). I will prove it to 
you. Listen. "This is to certify that 
the bearer of this note, Bridget Panini, 
has been in my employ as a cook for the 
past seven months, and I have found her 
always sober, industrious, obliging, and 
civil. She leaves me to enter the un- 
rivalled aggregation of amazing actu- 
alities of Professor Gassaway. Signed, 
Mrs. J. Brown-Smythe, Mount Vernon, 
N. Y." There it is, ladies and gentle- 
men, you may read it for yourselves. 
{Tosses letter into audience.) And any 
one of you who doubts its genuineness 
may write to Mrs. Brown-Smythe at the 
address there given. No. 639 Hobson 
Boulevard, Mount Vernon, N. Y. In- 
deed, I would suggest that a committee 
of ladies be appointed after the close 
of the exhibition to communicate with 



The Side-Show 127 

Mrs. Brown-Smythe, in case you still 
have doubts. In case you are doubtful 
as to her cooking, I may add that I have 
in my pocket one of her most recent 
fish-balls. {Takes tennis - ball painted 
brown from his pocket and holds it up 
before audience.) It is perfect in con- 
tour {absent-mindedly bounces it upon 
stage, and catches it in his hand as it 
bounds upward) and possesses a re- 
silience which I for one have never 
found — 

Panini. Whisht, Misther Gashaway! 
Can't yez cut it short? Me arms ache 
wid holdin' these tings. 

Gassaway. One moment, Madame 
Panini — which I for one have never 
found in any of the fish-balls I have 
eaten in the homes of the cultured and 
refined. Thank you very much, Ma- 
dame Panini. Curtain, boys. 

[Boys lower curtains. Gassaway puts 
the -fish-ball back into his pocket. 

I would let you taste the fish-ball, 



128 The Side-Show 

ladies and gentlemen, were it not that 
it is the last of the lot, and has already 
been promised to Sawdoff, the Russian 
Giant, for his breakfast to-morrow 
morning. Madame Panini's photo- 
graphs are on sale in the lobby at the 
meagre cost of ten cents apiece. 

[A pause. 
Gassaway. Now, my friends, having 
shown you a culinary wonder that can 
be appreciated best by the ladies pres- 
ent, I feel that in justice to the other 
sex I should present to your attention 
one who will demonstrate her chiefest 
value to the gentlemen in the audience. 
Like a certain illustrious personage, I be- 
lieve in a square deal, and I do not pro- 
pose that any portion of this audience 
shall go away from here to-night feeling 
that another portion of the same au- 
dience has been especially favored by 
myself. So I have peculiar pleasure in 
presenting to you, Ignota, the Domestic 
Wonder. She is called Ignota because 



The Side-Show 129 

no one knows her name. She signed 
her contract with me with the distinct 
understanding that I should not look at 
the signature. Hence it is that, al- 
though she is in fact the most miracu- 
lous marvel of our age, even I do not 
know her name. Curtain, my good 
lads. 

[The curtains are drawn and show 
the dais occupied by a pleasant-' 
looking little lady, rather stout, 
smiling pleasantly as she reads a 
cook-book. At her side is a waste- 
basket in which repose a large 
number of letters and a small 
book. She holds likewise a small 
child in her lap, who is apparently 
sleeping. The child may be a boy 
or a girl, whichever happens to be 
the more convenient for the lady 
impersonating the freak. A lap- 
dog must not be used for this scene 
under any circumstances. 
Gassaway. Is it not a beautiful spec- 



130 The Side-Show 

taclei Ignota reading Mrs. Maginnis' 
Sixty Soups, or How to Live on Ten Hard- 
boiled Eggs a Year, while clasped in her 
arms she holds her little one — little 
Jacky (or little Polly as the case may be) . 
Now, ladies and gentlemen, Ignota is 
the Woman Who Does Not Play 
Bridge. Just think of it. Here is a 
woman who prefers home and husband, 
child, and the cares of the household to 
that wondrous game which with the 
grip of the deadly Octopus holds the 
land in its firm clutch. See — as evi- 
dence of her sincerity (springs for- 
ward and seizes the waste-basket), one, 
two, five, ten, twenty, fifty invitations 
to play Bridge with her neighbors — all 
hurled unceremoniously into the waste- 
basket. And with them, what do we find ? 
This, ladies and gentlemen! (Takes book 
out of basket, which turns out to be 
Elwell on Bridge.) Do you recognize 
it, ladies? Nothing more nor less than 
Elwell — and, like the invitations them- 



The Side-Show 131 

selves, tossed into the waste-basket, with 
a courage alongside of which that of 
Joan of Arc seems mean and trivial. 
You who are husbands, tell me honestly, 
did you ever see anything like this 
either upon a platform or in your own 
homes? I ask the ladies if in their 
experience, either in this town or else- 
where, they have ever seen Ignota's 
equal, or a woman who in this respect is 
even like her? I never did. {Takes 
out handkerchief and wipes his eyes.) 
Even my own precious Araminta is 
absent this evening, even as she was 
last evening, and the evening before, 
and the evening before that, back 
through numberless evenings until the 
mind fails to take them in, squandering 
the vast earnings of this show upon the 
elusive Grand Slam, not because she 
likes it, but in order to maintain her 
social position in the great City of 
Schoharie, where we reside. Take one 
more look at her, friends. {A pause,) 



132 The Side-Show 

A lovely, unprecedented thing! (A 
pause.) Curtain, boys. 

[Usher hands note over footlights to 
Gassaway. He opens and reads 
it, and shakes his head. 
In answer to the gentleman who has 
sent me this I would say (shaking letter 
aloft) that Ignota is not a widow, and 
therefore his most passionate proposal 
and appropriate offering of his heart and 
hand, coupled with an assurance of room 
in his trunk for her slippers, must be 
gratefully and regretfully declined. I 
do not wonder, however, at his note. 
It is no new thing. The lady receives 
on an average not less than two hundred 
and fifty offers of marriage per month, 
but Mr. Ignota is still happily alive. He 
is absent this evening, playing pinochle 
with a few of his old college friends, else 
he also would have appeared in this 
beautiful tableau of the really happy 
family. 

[.4 pause, during which the audience 



The Side-Show 133 

is expected to show its tremendous 
appreciation of the marvels of 
Ignota. 
Gassaway. And now, ladies and gentle- 
men, as the hour is growing late, I will 
bring my exhibition to a close with an 
exhibit which I venture to say makes a 
fitting climax to an evening of wonder. 
Mademoiselle Outasighti, the Invisible 
Soprano. She is unparalleled, and I 
freely confess that I do not understand 
her myself. Unlike most sopranos, she 
is absolutely invisible to the naked eye. 
Nordica, Eames, Sembrich, Melba — all 
these great ladies are marvels in their 
way, but every one of them when they 
appear on the stage can be clearly seen 
with or without the use of opera-glasses, 
but Outasighti, the Invisible Soprano, 
has never yet been beheld by mortal 
man or woman. Curtain, boys. 

[Boys draw curtains to one side and 
reveal the dais apparently un- 
occupied. 



134 The Side-Show 

There she is, ladies and gentlemen. 
Good-evening, Mademoiselle. 

A Voice. Good - evening, Mr. Gassa- 
way. 

Gassaway. I trust you are feeling in 
fine voice this evening. 

A Voice. I am slightly hoarse, Mr. 
Gassaway, but I think I shall be able 
to undertake the work required of me 
provided there are no encores. 

Gassaway. Mademoiselle Outasighti 
requests that there be no encores, ladies 
and gentlemen, because she is suffering 
from hoarseness. 

Man in the Audience. I can't see her. 

Gassaway. Of course you can't, sir. 
If you could she would not be invisible. 
That is the strange thing, sir, about the 
lady. Now Mademoiselle Outasighti, 
may we have a simple little ballade — 
something like — ah — Oh, Promise Mef 

A Voice. With great pleasure, sir. 
[A piano is played and Mademoiselle 
Outasighti sings Oh, Promise Me, 



The Side-Show 135 

at conclusion of which the boys let 
the curtain fall. 
Gassaway. Ladies and gentlemen, I 
thank you for your kind attention, and, 
as a special mark of my appreciation of 
your courtesy, let me hand you all 
photographs, free of charge, of this 
greatest of all wonders, Mademoiselle 
Outasighti, the Invisible Soprano. 

[Throws a large number of blank 
cards to all parts of the auditorium, 
bows, and the main curtain falls. 
In response to the applause which 
ought to follow, whether it does or 
not, the curtain again rises, dis- 
closing all the freaks standing in 
a row, with Gassaway proudly 
smiling in the centre, with a 
blank space at his right, pre- 
sumably occupied by the invisible 
Mademoiselle Outasighti. 

THE END 



OCT 2 1P09 



